


you will exhale cinnamon clouds

by Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)



Series: Remembrance [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (for AZ & Crowley), Betrayal, Coercion, Crowley isn't Raphael in this one sorry, Crowley's Fall, Cults, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lucifer's Rebellion, M/M, Multi, Other, Physical Abuse, Pre-Fall, Pre-Relationship, Raphael is a BAMF tho, Systemic Oppression, The Garden of Eden, Trauma, creepy mentor, entirely non-standard hodgepodge angel mythology, foregone conclusion, inappropriate mentor/protégé relationship, the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale definitely is, the relationship between Crowley(Asael) and Lucifer is Not A Romance, war in heaven, whatever the angelic equivalent of sex is I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/pseuds/Mercury%20Starlight
Summary: In the Beginning, angels were one with God, mere appendages to the larger being. As the Universe was formed, angels gained more sentience, independence, and individuality, even free will. But change begets change, and the tranquility of Heaven was never meant to last. Lucifer, Seraphim and star maker, has a new apprentice: a bright, inquisitive angel named Asael. As the Morning Star's lust for power grows, so too does his obsession over his charge. But the end of Lucifer's life as an angel marks the true beginning of Asael's journey.The story of the War in Heaven, the Fall of the Morning Star, and the clever young angel who sauntered vaguely downwards after Him.Prequel toClose to Home, So Far Away, but can be read independently.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Raphael (Good Omens), Pre-Fall Crowley (Asael)/Pre-Fall Lucifer (Good Omens)
Series: Remembrance [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623817
Comments: 36
Kudos: 46
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Prologue - In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the 2019/2020 Good Omens Big Bang. It was beta'd by the amazing [Inflappable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inflappable), with art by [GottaGoBuyCheese](https://gottagobuycheese.tumblr.com/) and [SoulTheta](https://soultheta.tumblr.com/). This has been an amazing experience, and a hugely talented team to work with. I'm really happy with what we've made here, I think it's something special.
> 
> As stated in the summary, this story is a prequel to another work, the previous work in this series (oh god, how did I end up writing another series??). I started thinking about Crowley's relationship to Lucifer while writing that work. "Why," I asked myself, "is Lucifer so determined to keep Crowley alive, even when it seems like he _hates_ him? What _does_ their history look like?" The answer to that question eventually became this fic. I hope it's a satisfying one to my readers. It certainly is to me.
> 
> The title of this fic is from the Toad the Wet Sprocket song [Little Heaven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7zUXvfusc0), the lyrics of which are basically the thesis of this fic.  
>  _(breathe in waves of doubt, bitter in your mouth, you will exhale cinnamon clouds)_  
>  The song expresses the idea of change as a constant, necessary, unavoidable thing which, while painful at times, ultimately leads to inner transformation, especially when embraced. Crowley's life is a litany of change, some for the better, some not. Ultimately, the changes in his life will lead him to a true soulmate, but that journey is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angelology is correct, in a sense, but it's all still garbled, confused, misunderstood nonsense. Humans are not quite capable of actually comprehending what goes on up there. This is yet another tale that doesn't quite get it right, but like all the others, it holds a kernel of truth.

In the Beginning, only the Creator existed, and She Knew Not From Whence She Came.

The Creator wished for More and so, true to her nature, She Created. Through Her Will, Her Body became The Universe, and She Herself was all-knowing, all-present, Almighty. She formed parts of herself which could help her to Create, shaped them into something resembling appendages. These appendages soon formed into Beings, not separate from the Creator, but individuated from Her, existing Within Her. The Creator named them Angels and Saw that they were Good. The Angels worked in tandem, each embodying various parts of the Universe, and each Angel's domain was inextricable from the others. The Creator named them further, each according to their nature:

**The Seraphim** , keepers of Dimensional Space. Guardians of all Cosmic Realms, and of the Void, and of the stars and planets which fill it in their infinite variety. Minders of the multiverse: the astral plane, the firmament, the physical realm, the states of matter. Embodiment of Reality, both material and metaphysical.

**The Cherubim** , keepers of Dimensional Time. Guardians of Light and Motion, the Physical Laws which govern all that the Seraphim embody. Minders of the cycle of Life, Death, and Rebirth, the movement of stars and planets, the mirrored orbit of those pieces of matter which make up Reality. Embodiment of Change, chaos formed into order and back again.

**The Ophanim** , keepers of Dimensional Quintessence, of spiritual energies. Guardians of Spirit and Magic, the Ethereal Forces which hold together all that the Seraphim and Cherubim command. Minders of Fate and Destiny, of the Eternal Soul, the spaces Between the Stars. Embodiment of the Creator's Power, permeating All Which Exists.

And through these forces combined, the Universe Began.

* * *

The Creation of the Universe was a beautiful dance. Seraphim birthed star after star, setting each ablaze in brilliant colors. Each star passed along to more Seraphim, who crafted planets of rock and cloud and ice, and with these Heavenly bodies, decorated each star. Cherubim gave motion to these wondrous bundles, as Ophanim breathed Life and Power into each new solar system. Then the cycle began anew.

New cycles developed. Seraphim wove the Astral Realm from spun strands of the Ophanim's Celestial power, kept aligned alongside the physical world by the Cherubim's careful hands. The three worked tirelessly on the creation of living creatures to fill the endless void, from the tiniest microbes to enormous titans—larger than planets. The research & development departments were vast and numerous.

The Almighty looked upon Her Creation and Saw that it was Good.

As the nascent Universe formed, the Creator wished to see her children thrive. And so She released them from Her full control, allowed each being to form sentience, personalities, inner selves. She pulled away from them ever-so-slightly, and the Host offered gratitude for their freedom. Gratitude in song and verse, in the shape of each new wondrous Creation, in their unwavering, unquestioning obedience.

The angels saw themselves as individuals and named themselves as beings separate from the ones around them. With the Creator's Blessing, the angels multiplied, Drew from themselves a portion of their own power, the way the Creator had Drawn the angels from Her own. This created new angels to help the First Three in their Work. The First Three begat a new Generation, and the Second Three then begat another. But the last Generation, the Third Three, could not pull any further power from themselves, not without losing their essences entirely.

* * *

And so the three generations of the Angelic Host formed Nine Choirs:

The **Seraphim** , who begat the **Hayyothim** , who begat the **Malakhim**.

The **Cherubim** , who begat the **Erelim** , who begat the **Elim**.

The **Ophanim** , who begat the **Tarshishim** , who begat the **Ishim**.

Each choir of angel varied in power and specialty but were otherwise equal in Her sight; all were ultimately the Creator's Children. Although the First Three were tasked with assigning Work for the others, none were truly higher or lower in status or authority, more or less vital to the Creator's Ineffable Plan, than any other. That was the way of things, and thus did the Universe Exist in Harmony.

Until, of course, it didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a ridiculous amount of research for this fic. Literally ridiculous. I've researched so much angelology and demonology, I'm pretty sure Google now thinks I'm either a born-again Christian, or going through a religious psychosis. Or both. (There are only so many times one can google some variation on, "names and powers of demons" before one is put on some sort of list. I get banner ads for online bible study and religious conspiracy theory websites, it's a whole thing.)
> 
> I did that level of research because I wanted to be able to, confidently and without reservation, throw most of it out the window and combine the rest into something I found both interesting and compelling. In the following story you'll find twisted bits and pieces of mythology and folklore from a variety of sources: Christian, Jewish, Islamic, Grecian, Zoroastrian, probably more (I lost track at some point).
> 
> Mythology is the longest running game of telephone ever played. This story is my purposefully altered contribution to the chain. :)
> 
> (Special thanks to _[Magical Cornucopia](http://www.archangels-and-angels.com/misc/fallen_angesl.html)_ , Gustov Davidson's exhaustive work, _[A Dictionary of Angels: Including the Fallen Ones](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/108387.A_Dictionary_of_Angels)_ , Rabbi David Fohrman's _utterly fascinating_ 12-part series on [interpreting the story of the Garden of Eden](https://www.aish.com/jl/b/eb/ge/?s=bc), and numerous, _numerous_ Wikipedia pages, for providing the sources for the bulk of my research and inspiration.)


	2. The Starsmith and the Tenth Angel

Lucifer was a Seraphim. He was believed to be the First (though there was no real way to know), the angel from which all others were Drawn. When asked, the Creator always replied, "You are My Children, and I love you all," and said nothing further on the matter. Which was a very unsatisfying answer, but one which had to satisfy anyway, as angels were, at the time, not capable of being unsatisfied with one of the Creator's answers. At any rate, Lucifer was much beloved among his fellow angels, and those who worked under him felt Blessed to do so. And they most definitely were.

Lucifer was a Starsmith, an angel tasked with crafting and placing each star in the sky. And Lucifer loved his job. Lucifer loved the Creator, of course; that went without saying. And Lucifer loved his Brethren, enjoyed their company. But Lucifer was created to form the stars, and he loved the task so thoroughly that he gave himself a title along with his name. Lucifer was the Morning Star, first of his kind, brightest in the sky. The love he held for his position nearly bordered on Pride. Though, of course, such a thing was yet to be named.

* * *

"Do you know," Lucifer said one day1 to his fellow starsmiths, "I believe I feel most at peace in the moments just after I've crafted a new star."

"Oh yes," said a nearby Hayyothim, whose name was Haures. "I am always at peace in the Light of the Almighty, of course, as are we all. But crafting a star holds a special satisfaction. I love to watch the Cherubim and their crew set them into motion and see the planet-smiths put their planets into orbit around it."

"Yes, those aspects are fine," Lucifer said, smiling, "but the crafting itself, that's the best part. Why I feel as though each star is my own child. Each time I set one into the void, I imagine I must know how the Almighty felt when she first crafted me."

Haures fell silent. The other angels got somewhat uncomfortable when Lucifer talked like that, though they couldn't quite articulate why. And as time went on, he seemed to talk like that more and more.

Lucifer ignored his discomfort. Haures clearly didn't understand starsmithery the way Lucifer did. None of them could, really. None of them were him.

"None of us may know how the Almighty feels, not any more or less than She passes on to us," said a Malakhim named Michael. Lucifer turned and watched her carefully.

"That is true," he said at length, measured and a bit stiff. "I was of course speaking hypothetically."

"You spend a great deal of time pondering the hypothetical, Morning Star," said Michael, teasingly, but with a serious edge. "It's a wonder you're not an Ophanim."

This got a bit of a laugh from those who heard it, and although Lucifer laughed along, he did not find it particularly funny. He instead wondered how it was that an angel two generations removed from himself was speaking to him in such a manner, and how it was that he, or indeed any of the First Three, put up with such things.

He set that thought aside, but not entirely. He kept it in the back of his mind, where it sat for a long, long time, incubating into something dark, and cold, and malignant.

* * *

Michael sat alongside her compatriots, braiding together the netting of the Astral Plane. It was a big project. It took a great many angels to create an entire dimension, and now was their turn to weave the great web of the astral reality. Michael's crew2 consisted of a few fellow Malakhim: Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael, Zadkiel, Kemuel, and Jophiel. This group had taken to spending a lot of time together, more with each other than with the others of their generation. Although the concept did not exist quite yet, they were as true a group of friends as any.

"He said what?" Gabriel nearly dropped the strand he was holding.

"He compared himself to the Almighty," Michael leaned in, whispering. "Said he thought creating the stars felt similar to Her creation of us."

A shocked murmur rippled through the group.

"He truly thinks he can say anything he wants, doesn't he?" Uriel said, shaking their head in disdain.

Raphael cocked his head. "Can't he?"

The others set down their strands and stared at him. He shrugged.

"I'm not saying it's right; I'm only saying, he can. There's nothing stopping him."

"Common sense and good taste," Kemuel muttered, and the others murmured in agreement.

"Anyway," Michael said, resuming her work, "perhaps there should be something to stop him. Such things don't have a place among the Host. Nothing and no one holds a place at the Almighty's side, and I for one hope he will tire of such talk before he infects others with it."

There was a general hum of agreement as they each continued weaving. Raphael said nothing and remained quiet and contemplative for a long time.

* * *

One morning, as Lucifer began crafting his newest scattering of stars, a new angel appeared beside him, quite literally out of nowhere.

"Hello, Morning Star," said the unfamiliar angel. "I'm supposed to follow you and learn what you do."

"Oh," Lucifer said, somewhat unsettled by this unexpected new arrival, "er, welcome. What are you called?"

"I am Asael."

Lucifer smiled. "That's rather literal, isn't it?"3

Asael shrugged. "I was made by God."

Lucifer laughed. "Very true! Come, let me show you our tasks."

Lucifer soon found that his new apprentice was beyond eager to learn. The angel had a sense of wide-eyed wonder about him, an enthusiasm often seen in the newly formed, but with an energy Lucifer found unfamiliar and couldn't quite place. And he was absolutely full of questions.

"What is a galaxy?"

"How large is the Void?"

"Are they all this beautiful?"

"Might we run out of room?"

Lucifer was delighted by the young angel's curiosity. He would make an excellent starsmith, Lucifer was already sure. He answered each question to the best of his ability, and when he had no answer, he fell back on the one they all did: "That is only for the Almighty to know."

When Lucifer finished explaining a starsmith's role in the Universe, Asael was quiet for a long moment. Eventually he said, "But why place each star individually? We've all this room, after all. Shouldn't we create a space which allows them to grow on their own? It would be so much more interesting."

Lucifer wasn't entirely sure he understood the question. He frowned. "We are starsmiths. We form and place the stars. That is what we are."

Asael shook his head. "We are starsmiths, certainly. But that doesn't mean we must make them the way we always have." He paused, looking suddenly unsure of himself. "Does it?"

"Show me what you mean," Lucifer said, hesitant but intrigued.

Asael gathered together the makings of a star, but did not form one. Instead, he released this collection of star parts into the open space before him. He swirled it a bit, creating a beautiful cloud of gasses and stardust. A nearby Cherubim (whose name was Azaifel) stared at it, fascinated and confused. A new angel assigned to Azaifel (his name, they would come to learn, was Loriem) smiled and set the cloud moving, dancing through time. Lucifer and Azaifel stared, dumbfounded as tiny pinpricks of light began to form within the cloud: new stars forming from the dust. But it didn't stop there.

The stars continued to form and grow until they could no longer sustain themselves. Lucifer and Azaifel watched in awe as some of the stars collapsed in on themselves, pulling in the matter around them, while others exploded outward, creating new clouds in which new stars began to form. The rest of the starsmiths, Seraphim, Cherubim, and the various angels under their employ gathered to view this fascinating self-perpetuating cycle. Some of them began experimenting with the process themselves, collecting new star stuff and forming their own clouds.

Lucifer turned to Asael, who watched him with anxious anticipation, clearly hoping he hadn't angered his new mentor so soon into their acquaintance. Lucifer smiled, and Asael relaxed a little.

"…Is that all right?" he asked, still timid.

Lucifer felt for the warm confirmation of the Almighty's approval and nodded, smiling wider.

"It is Good." He said, and Asael smiled back at him.

He had a beautiful smile.

* * *

The newest angels were Different. That was the only way to put it.

Certainly, many of the Host were individuals, and some more than others, but these new angels were much more than that. For one thing, they had been neither planned nor heralded. The Host had always known about every previous generation's arrival, while this crop appeared silently, manifesting into their assigned positions as if they had always been there. 

What's more, they were very…independent. Beyond mere creativity, these angels were imaginative. They asked questions, made choices. Some of them argued. Even more confusingly, their inherent power seemed to vary wildly. Some were weak as Malakhim, some strong as Seraphim, though most were somewhere in between. They didn't seem to quite correlate to any of the existing choirs, and no one knew how exactly to classify them.

No one knew what to make of them at all, really.

But they were Brethren, gifted from the Creator Herself, who had not made an angel directly since the First Three. And so, in the absence of another classification they were dubbed "the Tenth" and welcomed gladly into the Host, despite their strangeness. No one questioned their Purpose—that was only for the Creator to know.

* * *

"Any new projects?" Lucifer asked Baelsebul, who was a Cherubim and a close friend. Baelsebul was a part of the team who created new life forms to live on the planets scattered throughout the Universe. Their team was currently tasked with creating new creatures for some as-yet-unnamed project still in the works.

"I'm very interested in small, short-lived creatures at the moment. I've been experimenting with some creatures who might live in harmony with Toriel's new plants. A long-lived creature like a tree, dependent upon a short-lived creature, who also depends upon it; has a kind of symmetry, you know?"

"Mmm. Say, has your team had any new arrivals?"

"A couple, yes. They're quite strange, aren't they?"

"I've never seen their like. Makes you wonder what She's planning, distributing them out like that without so much as a Herald."

"It does, doesn't it? If you ask me, I think something big is coming. This new project is all very secretive. The Almighty has kept the knowledge close, won't tell anyone much about anything beyond their specific duties. And another thing: I haven't seen Azrael in a proper age. I think perhaps the Almighty has marked them out for some specific purpose beyond their typical Cherubic duties. All things considered, I'd say we're in for a proper Herald soon enough."

Lucifer thought about this. He wondered if, in fact, the new angels were somehow related to this secret project the Cherubim were so hard at work on. He wondered why, if this project were so important as to be kept secret, the Seraphim had not been informed. He wondered whether the Ophanim knew anything about it.

He wondered whether the Seraphim had declined in worth in the Almighty's sight. And a new feeling joined that little seed in the back of his mind: jealousy.

* * *

1\. Time was not measured in precise quantities back then. Strictly speaking, linear time was still in the R&D phase. And so the angels demarcated events based upon cycles of change within the Universe. Thus, one can imagine that one such cycle roughly correlates to a "day" as the reader may understand it.1a

1a. For maximum enjoyment of this story, the reader is encouraged to imagine each of the following concepts (and any related concepts) as a metaphor crafted purely to allow the human mind to comprehend the incomprehensible: times of day, days, weeks, time, paperwork, paper, work, conference rooms, rooms, dimensional planes, distance, size, names, language, anatomy, matter, reality, and all of existence.[Back]

2\. For truly, that was what they were. The others looked to Michael for guidance, trusting her judgment and taking her orders happily and without question. [Back]

3\. **Asael** (Hebrew: עשהאל, "Made by God"). Literal indeed, but although Asael would later prove to be one of Heaven's most imaginative angels, every creative mind must start somewhere, and we all have our off-days. Besides, naming things is harder than it looks. [Back]


	3. The Great Plan

The Creator bestowed new Knowledge upon the Host. As was the way of Host-wide announcements, She spoke through the Ophanim, who sang Her words in Celestial harmony, their collective voice echoing throughout the Universe.

"The Almighty has devised of a Great Plan. She wishes to create new Creatures, new vessels to Sing Her praises and work Her Will. A new star shall be born, and the planet known as Earth, which circles that star, shall be home to these Creatures, far from the reaches of any other. These creatures shall be known as Humans. 

"Like angels, humans shall be granted Holy bodies, Souls which shall tie them to their Creator. But these Souls shall not contain such power as Angels, nor shall they hold no power at all, like Creatures past. These Souls shall be a new Generation, as though pulled from the Third Three, and shall contain Holy power accordingly. The humans shall house their Souls within corporations, material bodies with which they might interact with each other and their World.

"The humans shall also be granted new powers. They shall possess Creativity, Faith, Love—all the other qualities the Host possesses. But they shall also possess a new quality: Choice. For these Creatures shall each be granted Free Will from the moment of their birth. Each shall exist upon the Earth driven by their own Will, and those who Choose to abide by the Almighty's Will shall be Blessed. They shall come to this place, Our home, and they shall know it as Heaven, as it shall be known forever more.

"These humans shall be as children and must be tended to. Soon, the forming of the Universe shall cease, for angels shall each turn their attention toward Humanity, and all Angelic Works shall be devoted to Them and the guidance of Their Will. Rejoice! For a New Age has dawned, and the Host shall take on a New Purpose! So Shall It Be Written!"

* * *

At first, the announcement surprised the Host. Certainly, there were numerous creatures scattered throughout the Universe, but none of them had been Created to sing Her praise. Singing the Almighty's praise had been, until this moment, an exclusively angelic task.

Then the announcement delighted the Host. The Third Three had tried to create a new Generation, but the attempt failed, and several Ceased to Be. Now, there would be a new Choir after all, new Brethren to welcome into the Fold. How Wonderful! This was a Great Plan indeed.

But then the announcement confused the Host. The only Will was the Almighty's Will; no other existed. Granted, some of the Host had begun forming things like Opinions and Preferences, and some even made things that could, in a certain sense, be considered Decisions. But Choice as described here, as a Freedom to ignore the Will of the Creator, was an entirely foreign concept.

By the time it was over, the announcement baffled the Host. Set down their Creation tools? Mind new creatures—creatures to whom they must be devoted? What of their devotion to the Almighty? This was such a new idea that many of them had to take a millennia or so to process merely what the idea meant, let alone how they felt about it.

And so the Host rejoiced, but they did so with a new feeling brewing inside their Souls. Although it would not become apparent for a long time, it was at this moment, the announcement of the Great Plan, in which the first seeds of Doubt began to take root among the Host.

* * *

When Lucifer learned of the Great Plan, he did not rejoice. He felt concern. He was a starsmith. He was The Starsmith—it was why he existed. If not for starsmithery, what would he be? Who would he be?

Lucifer knew he was special beyond his suspected First status. Because the longer he lived, the closer he, himself, came to Free Will. No one but the Creator knew that such a thing was possible for an angel. It wasn't clear whether the Creator had intended this or whether it had happened as a natural side effect of Her pulling away from the Host. But it had happened, and it was continuing to happen. 

And although no one else ever mentioned it, Lucifer suspected that some of the others had started down the same path. And not only that, but the more time he spent in Asael's company, the more he began to suspect that the Tenth angels had come with Free Will preloaded. 

That made him wonder how many others, new and old alike, were less than thrilled at the idea of setting aside their Purpose to look after some new Creature, weaker in the Creator's power than the weakest Angel.

* * *

"This Great Plan," Lucifer said casually to his fellow starsmiths soon after the announcement, "it is truly wondrous, is it not?"

"Oh yes," said Haures. "I am excited to try my hand at something new!"

"Mmm," Lucifer said, nodding sagely. "But do you not love star-making?"

Haures looked horrified. "Of course I do! I love star-making! It is why I exist, after all: to help you and the other starsmiths populate the sky! Such a question!"

"But all of us shall set starsmithery aside and tend only to the humans," Lucifer reasoned. "How sad that will be, to never again craft another star."

"Surely someone will need to make more stars," said Asael. "Why could we not do both?"

"Because it is written," Lucifer said sadly, and Haures and Asael frowned in thought.

"I shall continue to make stars," said Azaifel confidently, and Lucifer took note of it, quietly filed it away.

"But you shan't," said Haures. "You shall look after the humans with the rest of us."

"I wonder when it will happen?" Asael said dreamily. He had that look he got when he was thinking about several things at once and couldn't quite settle on just one train of thought. Lucifer found that look incredibly compelling. It usually meant he was about to surprise everyone with some new idea or unheard-of invention.

Michael huffed. "It will happen when it happens," she said with a hint of irritation. "It's not for us to know."

Asael looked chastised by Michael's admonishment. He looked between Michael and Lucifer, anxious for approval, concerned he may have made a mistake. Michael glared at him. Lucifer gave him a reassuring smile.

"The Almighty's ineffable word is bound to inspire curiosity," he said, and Asael looked gratefully reassured.

Michael turned back to her work. "The Almighty's Word is Law, and we need only be curious about whether we are following that Law to Her Satisfaction," she muttered.

"I wonder…" said Lucifer, but he said nothing further. There was no need. Some seeds need only be planted to grow on their own.

* * *

Lucifer and Asael strolled through the void, taking in the splendor of their hard work.

"Do you think," Asael said, "that the Almighty would allow us to continue star-making if we really wanted to?"

Lucifer considered his answer carefully.

"I think the Almighty will do as the Almighty does, and we as her servants are at her mercy."

"Hm," Asael frowned. "I suppose you're right about that. But I guess if she Wills it, it shall be Good. We will love any task she puts before us."

Lucifer nodded. "That is true. We will have no choice but to love it."

They lapsed into silence as they walked, Asael clearly struck by Lucifer's words. Lucifer was content to let him think on it a while.

"This place is so beautiful, so peaceful," Asael eventually said in wonder. "I much prefer it to those crowded, noisy dens where so many of the Cherubim do their work. Do you think the Cherubim shall create the Humans as they have other living creatures?"

"No," Lucifer said, indulgent and amused. "I think the Almighty shall create them Herself. Much as she created me and you."

Asael blushed. "I wouldn't presume to compare myself to such as you, Morning Star. You are by far the most radiant and most powerful among us."

"You mustn't worry about such things," Lucifer said, though inwardly he swelled with pleased pride at the notion. "We are all equal in the Creator's eyes."

They continued to walk for a time before Asael spoke up.

"But not in mine."

Lucifer stopped and looked at him quizzically. Asael shrugged.

"I only mean, it seems to me that some of us are more or less powerful than others, more or less knowledgeable, more or less capable of our different tasks. You can make a star, but Azaifel can make it spin. I can create a nebula, but Baelsebul can create a bee. What a wondrous thing, to create something so immensely tiny that has such immense importance in the life cycle of a planet. And Loriem can create neither and can only help to sculpt that which has already been created. Why am I more powerful than he, I wonder, when we are of the same generation?"

Lucifer chuckled. "You are absolutely full of wonder today, Little Star. And as usual, I have no answers for you." His expression turned serious. "But I must say: if I were you, I would beware expressing such wonderment around just anyone."

Asael frowned. "Have I something I shouldn't?"

Lucifer took his hand. "Not to me. But most of the others are accustomed to experiencing only the thought which mirrors that of the Almighty. They are not used to questioning that thought. Not all of them are like you and I, with Strong Will and Free Thought. You are right: the Host contains many differences, and one of those is how comfortable one might be with questions such as yours."

"But there's nothing the matter with disagreement. Loriem and I disagree on things all the time—what shape a nebula should be, how far apart one star should be from another—"

"But those are disagreements amongst ourselves," Lucifer interrupted, a bit stern. "The things you sometimes say might be seen as disagreement with the Almighty, and that is quite a serious thing indeed."

"But how is that possible? We _are_ the Almighty, in a sense—all of us! Anything we do or say or think is Of Her."

"I know this. But I'm trying to tell you that this is too complex a thought for some of the Lesser angels to manage. It might create confusion. And confusion sows discord amid harmony. I'm not saying you can't think these things or that you can't express such thoughts to me, but I'm advising caution. If someone, say someone like Michael, were to hear you talk like that, they might misunderstand you, believe you to be unfaithful to Her. Even I can't know what the consequences of such a thing might be. I love you, Asael, I never wish to see any harm come to you."

Asael glowed with joy. "And I love you, Lucifer. Thank you for looking out for me. I'll be careful."

Lucifer smiled and kissed Asael's forehead. He lingered a bit, savoring the feeling of the younger angel's loving, trusting joy at his attentions.

 _You are mine, Little Star,_ he thought, in the part of his mind he kept hidden from the rest of the Host, even from Asael. _All that inquisitive curiosity, all that creative genius, all of your many talents are mine to command. Not Hers. Mine. I will not allow Her to take you from me. Stay safe, my beloved. Great things are afoot, and I shall need you by my side._

But Lucifer was an angel, and there was not yet a word for the new immense feeling clawing at his insides. In that moment, he didn't understand that what he truly felt for his apprentice was not love at all, but the keen edge of a jealous, possessive hatred bordering on obsession. And to the end of his days, long after he came to know hate, to innately understand it with every fiber of his being, he never did quite manage to grasp the difference.

* * *

After the announcement of the Great Plan, the Heavens began to Change. 

The first change was the naming, of course. The angels had never had a name for their home before; it was always simply The Creator or The Universe to them. But now it was a place differentiated from Her. Seraphim crafted a space for it within the worlds, gave it boundaries and borders. It was no longer Everywhere—now it was Up. It became more than simply a celestial idea. It gained physicality, a Firmament in which to experiment with future Earthly endeavors. The Firmament was infinite, filled with the Sands of Creation, the building blocks of matter previously only accessible to those Seraphim and Cherubim whose jobs involved the creation of physical things. Now, upon the Firmament, any angel with the ability to craft matter could build anything they might wish to.

Cherubim, who had begun working on the concept of Time in earnest, set Heaven apart in Time from the other realms, allowed it to stay in stasis. Heaven existed in an entirely different realm from Earth, separated from the physical world by the Astral realm, which was something of a bridge between the two. 

The next Change was in the angels themselves. The Creator, in hopes of encouraging her children to familiarize themselves with the workings of humans, granted them physical forms to go along with their new physical realm. Their corporations would not be as complete and immutable as the humans' would be, but they would give the angels a decent idea of how humans would experience the world. Some angels, many Ophanim especially, found this concept incredibly distasteful and declined from inhabiting a physical form. Many others took great joy in gaining a new way to interact with Her Creation and experimented with different forms. 

All of the Tenth angels eagerly embraced their new bodies, inhabiting them in a way which seemed to come naturally.

* * *

The Firmament stretched out endlessly in all directions, a pristine sea of sand and sky. Angels bustled about, mingling the business of strategizing Earth's creation with the pleasure of experimenting with their newfound physicality. Angels soared overhead, angels tunneled into the ground, angels formed the Sands of Creation into new, interesting things and then dashed them down again, toddlers playing with blocks.

Asael stood with his feet planted in the warm sand. He'd never felt physical warmth, and it was a lovely feeling. His wings, huge feathered things, fascinating physical manifestations of his soul's connection to the Almighty's well of boundless power, stretched behind him. The sunlight on his skin was a glorious blessing. The gentle breeze caressed his cheeks, sent his bright red hair drifting behind him in curled strands. Laughing, he threw his arms wide and spun in circles, enjoying the differing sensation of motion as compared to stillness. 1

"What are you _doing_?"

Loriem sounded utterly bewildered. Asael stopped spinning and turned in his direction to look at him—with eyes. Physicality was wondrous.

Loriem's corporation looked very different than Asael's. Where Asael's skin was somewhat fair, Loriem's was a rich brown. Both their hair was curled, but Loriem's was much thicker and darker than Asael's own. His eyes were a soft hazel, a stark contrast to Asael's brilliant green. Asael thought Loriem was very beautiful. Asael thought everything his brand new eyes could see was very beautiful.

Loriem seemed to be having a bit of difficulty getting the hang of legs. He stuck one foot out in front of him, lifted it a bit too high, wobbled on the other leg, and crashed down into the sand. He gave Asael's resultant laughter a cool glare.

"It's not funny," he mumbled. "I think I prefer the stars."

"Not in that form, you don't!" Asael said, helping his friend to his feet. "Get one of these things too close to a star and it'll burn up like...well, like something that burns up very fast."

"Dry grass?" Lucifer suggested, approaching the pair. Asael looked up at him, and for a moment he was speechless, unable to focus on anything else.

Lucifer's corporation was utterly striking. He shone in the sunlight, his hair the hot white of a pulsar, his eyes the brilliant gold of a sun. He was tall and fair and wore an expression which seemed to suggest that he knew just about everything there was to know. Asael had never felt such awe looking upon a fellow creature. He'd only ever felt more looking upon the Almighty Herself.

After a moment of dumbstruck staring, Asael processed what Lucifer had said and scrunched up his nose.

" _What_ sort of grass?"

Grass had only just been invented, but word got around quickly, and it wasn't an unfamiliar concept. That descriptor, however, was a new one. 2

" _Dry_." Lucifer smiled a patient, if condescending, smile at him. "It's the opposite of _wet_."

The two gave him blank stares, and he paused a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Look, I'll show you."

He knelt and took up a fistful of sand, clearing a small divot with his other hand. He smoothed out the walls of the hole, turning it to firm earth under his fingertips. Then he let the sand fall from between his fingers. Except it was no longer sand. It was a clear flowing thing that glinted in the sunlight and pooled in a delightfully satisfying way inside the basin. The apprentices knelt at his side, fascinated.

"This," Lucifer said as he poured, "is water. It's going to be very important on Earth; all the living things upon it will need it to survive. And when something is covered in this precious substance, it is said to be wet."

When he finished pouring, he waved a hand over the pool and lush green grass sprang along its edges, forming from the sand.

"The grass needs water, too. Without it, well…"

He held his hand over the water and closed it into a fist. The water was sand once again. The color drained from the grass, and it turned a yellow-brown nearly the same color as the sand. Asael reached out a curious hand and touched it, felt its brittle edges crumble under his fingertips.

"Without water, the grass is dry. Dry grass is dead. And dead grass? Burns."

A flame lit on the tip of Lucifer's finger, and he lowered it to the grass, which went up immediately. The fire danced its way through the fuel at a rapid pace, and Asael didn't pull his hand away in time. Flame licked the side of his hand, and he yelped and pulled it back. That wasn't only warm—that was hot! He knew fire was hot, of course. But knowing and feeling were very different experiences. 3

Loriem shivered. "I'm still not entirely comfortable with this whole 'death' thing. There's something unnerving about the idea of a thing which ceases to exist after a time, even if it does enable other things to come into being. I do not envy Azrael their new job."

"The Angel of Death will be quite busy. Everything on Earth will die in perpetuity," Lucifer said, nodding seriously, "including the Humans, once they've left their Garden. Which is what ultimately makes the entire project so unnecessary. Why put them into vessels which will eventually wilt like the grass at their feet? Why put in the effort to sustain bodies when their souls, weak though they may be, are perfectly fine as they are? Physicality, and mortality, are only some of Humanity's _many_ flaws."

Loriem gasped, and he stared at Lucifer with wide eyes. Asael waved Loriem's shock away and put a reassuring hand on Loriem's arm.

"Don't listen to him, he doesn't mean anything by it. He's only being grumpy about the Plan again." He shot Lucifer a mockingly disapproving look followed by a warm smile. "He'll come around."

Loriem looked only a little reassured by this. Asael squeezed his hand.

"Come on. I heard the Cherubim brought their menagerie down. I want to see the latest animals."

He led Loriem away, giving Lucifer a parting look that was half apology, half resignation.

 _Sorry about him_ , he thought to his mentor. _You know he doesn't understand. He isn't Free._

__

_I know. Worry not Little Star, he will learn. You can teach him, in time._

_I do hope so. It's so sad to see them get so upset over such trivial things. Freedom will be so much better for the Host._

_Yes, it will._

Lucifer smiled, pleased that his apprentice was so quickly adopting the correct way of thinking. He watched Asael marvel at the new animals, pick up some small furry thing and inspect it, trying to learn everything he could about this thing which had nothing whatsoever to do with his purpose. He looked back at Lucifer, grinning at his mentor in adoration, his eyes holding that same need for approval they'd always held.

 _You are so very beautiful, My Little Star,_ Lucifer thought, returning his smile without meaning it. _So brilliant. Such a mystery. Where does that Free spirit come from? How do you contain such strong Will? How does it not overtake you?_

The envy inside him flared, hot and overwhelming. Asael was so beautiful, so powerful, and he didn't even know it. Lucifer had watched that power grow, watched it blossom into a bright flare. And he couldn't allow one of the Tenth, _his own Tenth_ , to outshine or outgrow him. None shone as brilliantly as the Morning Star. And as long as he had any say in it, none ever would.

_I shall know you, Little Star. I shall know each secret you hold. You shall keep none from Me._

He watched the others of the Host scramble about, discussing their new projects, playing and singing, oblivious to the dangers the Great Plan posed for them all. He looked down, considered the blackened remnants of his demonstration, and sneered in disdain. An entire world filled with such fragile, weak things, so easily destroyed. Such a waste of time and energy. Such a squandering of power. With a thought, the Sand at his feet was smooth and clean once again.

He set his newly created jaw. He would cleanse the Host as well. Some of them didn't yet understand what was best for them, but that didn't matter. He knew. And once He'd unlocked the secrets of the Tenth, He would Free them all.

* * *

1\. Strictly speaking, there was no sun on the Firmament, but sunlight warmed it nonetheless. The breeze was a beta test implemented by a couple of Cherubim. They were calibrating various wind speeds, forming dunes in the Sands that they could then measure to determine optimal speeds for seed distribution and other mechanisms the Earth would use to sustain itself once set into motion. [Back]

2\. The planet-smiths were quite familiar with these concepts, but starsmiths worked in gasses and flame. Liquid didn't really factor into their creations. [Back]

3\. This was the first time he would learn this lesson. It would not remotely be the last. [Back]


	4. The New Age

The Garden of Eden was formed upon the Firmament, and there it stayed while the Earth was prepared for its eventual occupants. According to the Plan, the humans would live in the Garden, secure within its walls, until such time as they proved themselves capable of managing the planet. Then Eden's Gates would open onto the Earth, Time would begin to flow, and the World would be Humanity's Garden.

And so the Earth was created, in stages which the humans would come to understand as "days". The truth of it, as with so many other things, was much more ineffable than that. But at the end of the Sixth Day, the Creator formed Her first two Humans. The effort of this was so strenuous that She Rested for all of the Seventh Day.

It was during this Rest that the Change in Heaven truly began to gain speed.

Shortly after the Creator fell silent, a few dozen Ophanim merged themselves into a single being and began calling themselves "Metatron". They claimed it was an easier system than utilizing the entire Ophanim population to speak for the Creator. They would now be the Creator's Voice, and would act as go-between during her Rest. Unbeknownst to them at the time, this position was to be Permanent.

The rest of the Ophanim, freed of their responsibilities as Heralds, focused on the creation and maintenance of the Soul. This had always been a part of their task, but now it was the whole of it, and many of them faded into the background. They manifested to the others less and less, becoming more Force than Being. Many abandoned their names, their individuality, in a way quite unlike Metatron. As the Cherubim experimented with the creation and manipulation of Earth's various Elements, the Ophanim became another: Spirit.

Eden grew over time, increasingly populated with flora and fauna as the angels performed their Work. And increasingly utilized as a sort of recreational spot by a number of angels, whether their Work was directly concerned with the Garden or not. No one knew whether this was altogether appropriate, but they didn't seem to be hurting anything, and so they were allowed to do so, provided they didn't interfere with the humans.

As the Great Plan progressed from plan to action, the Host discovered that meeting on the Firmament presented some challenges. Interaction in a physical space was very different than their prior ways of working. Groups interrupted each other, noise and space was something to be considered, some projects required controlled environments in order to develop properly. And so, out of the Sands of the Firmament, far from Eden's walls, the Host began to build. Heaven became first a town, then a city, gleaming white and beautiful in the not-sunlight. The Host had places to congregate, space to occupy. Seclusion became a possibility, the walling of a room, the closing of a door. Privacy, and secrecy, became manifest in the great City of Heaven for the first time.

* * *

The group Lucifer had assembled in the newly created conference room was a seemingly disparate collection of twelve: two Cherubim (Baelsebul and Azaifel), two Seraphim (Leviathei and Irlis), one Ophanim (Ammon), one Erelim (Abalon), one Hayyothim (Dagol), one Malakhim (Raphael), one Ishim (Cail), and three of the Tenth (Beleith, Paimiel, and Asael).

The motley collection of angels murmured among themselves, confused as to why they'd been summoned. Then Lucifer caught the crowd's attention, and all conversation stopped.

"Thank you all for agreeing to this meeting. I'm very glad to see each of you here. I know we all have work we should be tending to. I've asked you all here for a very important reason. You see, everyone in this room has something very much in common, and it is something we have urgent need to discuss."

He took a long pause, and Asael suppressed a smirk, knowing that whatever Lucifer was about to say, the pause had been purely for dramatic effect. He looked around at the assembled crowd and wondered what they all might possibly have in common. Lucifer gave the crowd a knowing smile.

"I know each of you quite well. We have worked together, socialized together, created this glorious Universe together. And I came to realize that some of us are exceptional among the Host. We are, each of us, Beings of Free Will."

The murmur started up again immediately. Lucifer raised a quieting hand.

"I know we have all been told that Free Will is solely the domain of Humanity. But think on it. Look back at your own lives, and tell me you have not noticed the difference between yourselves and the others around you. Tell me you have not witnessed your own growth as the Almighty pulls further and further from the Host. Tell me you have not experienced choice. Tell me you have not experienced doubt."

The room fell silent. Lucifer let the idea sink in for a long moment before continuing. Asael looked at the faces of the others, and he knew none of them could deny Lucifer's words. He certainly couldn't.

"Supposing you're correct, Morning Star," Raphael said, politely, "forgive my flippancy, but…so what? Why are we here, really?"

Lucifer grinned at him.

"You see, that's the sort of question a Being of Free Will asks, would you not agree? 'Why? What's the reason? What's the _point_?' And that's the question I've been asking myself lately. What is the _reason_ we've been asked to set our essential selves aside to focus wholly on a new Generation? Why must we, who were created to revere the Almighty, now revere a creature who will barely be able to comprehend our existence? What is the _point_? And that's what I'd like to discuss here, today, if you're all amenable. I would like to find the answers to these questions. Each of you has a Strong Will and a clever mind—together, we might be able to better understand these things the Almighty has asked of us. Perhaps we may assuage our doubts, together."

Asael smiled and saw a few others do the same. It was a relief to have a group of like-minded beings he could talk to about his concerns regarding the Plan. After Lucifer's earlier warning, he'd become somewhat wary of sharing his mind with anyone other than him. But a support group like this was an excellent solution. His master was so very clever.

But unbeknownst to his apprentice, Lucifer hadn't chosen this group solely for their tendency toward Free Will. He'd carefully selected those he suspected were unhappy, or at least uncomfortable, with the Great Plan. And by the end of that first meeting, Lucifer knew he had them all. He knew they would come to more meetings, that they would bring others, that they would begin fomenting Doubt and Free Thought and Free Will among the Host. He knew they would, over time, come to the same conclusion he had.

All of his questions had one single, simple answer: there was no point. The Great Plan was, in fact, pointless. It was the wrong move. _The Almighty Was Wrong_. And once they understood that She was capable of error, they would begin to see Reason. They would rally to his cause— _their_ cause—and with his leadership, the Host would truly be Free to pursue their true purpose.

The Host would be Free to follow Him.

* * *

Michael's crew had been holding regular planning meetings since the City was erected. All members of the Host were invited to attend and to contribute their ideas toward continuing the Lord's Will in Her absence. These meetings were part project management, part town hall, and attendance was wide and varied.

Lucifer had never attended one before. Which is why Michael was so suspicious when he, and several of the angels he'd been hanging around with lately, came to this one.

"Metatron's, er, formation…is now complete," Jophiel was saying as Lucifer and his entourage entered the room, "and they report that the Almighty commands us to consider Metatron's Word as Her Own."

Nearly every angel in the room began speaking at once. Michael stepped onto the speaker's pedestal beside Jophiel and calmed them with a gesture.

"One at a time! You know the rule. Those with similar questions or comments must designate a speaker."1

"Forgive us," someone said. "We do not wish to sound" (and here, they dropped their voice to a cautious whisper) " _doubtful_ …But how do we _know_ that this new method of communication is truly of the Almighty's Will? Why does She not Proclaim this to us, as She always has?"

"You know that the Almighty has need of Rest after such a strenuous Creation effort as that of Earth and Humanity," Michael said patiently, "but should you doubt it, look to your own core for Answers. Ask and the Lord shall answer, though She may not Speak. Metatron is but a Voice—the rest of the Ophanim still hold Her Spirit. That has not and will never change."

The few Ophanim in attendance murmured in agreement. This answer seemed to satisfy, at least for the moment. It was true that each member of the Host could feel the Almighty's Will within themselves as they always had. But some noticed the feeling had become a bit less distinct of late. Most were trying to ignore that bit.

Lucifer spoke up somewhat suddenly but with a commanding enough tone to garner a good deal of attention.

"If I may offer a thought. I've been a bit inspired by Metatron's innovative solution to these modern problems. I believe it would benefit the Host, and the Great Plan Itself, were we to make some innovations of our own. I propose we arrange the Host differently, organize ourselves so as to better manage the coming changes."

Jophiel cocked their head. "What do you suggest?"

"I'm glad you asked," Lucifer said with a grin, and launched into his presentation.

* * *

Lucifer's proposal was solid, and after long and occasionally heated debate, the matter was settled. The angels would be sorted by power into Spheres, and each Sphere would control a different aspect of this new Universe.

The First Sphere would, of course, consist of those with powers of the First Three. Seraphim, Cherubim, and Ophanim would continue to perform their duties as they always had. In this way, the Universe would keep its cohesion and allow the Great Plan to thrive.

The Second Sphere would consist of the Second Generation. They would be concerned with the Administration of the Celestial Realm. The Hayyothim would Govern them all, enact and uphold the laws that form Heaven's day-to-day management and angelic codes of conduct. The Erelim would control passage in and out of Heaven and the material realm, ensuring all would end up where they should and no one would end up where they shouldn't. The Tarshishim would embody the Virtues of Heaven, act as Heaven's Moral Guardians. They would become Heaven's spiritual leaders and guides, and determine Right and Wrong for spiritual and non-spiritual creatures alike.

The Third Sphere would then, of course, hold the Third Generation. And they would be the angels most closely concerned with the affairs of Humanity. The Elim, taking their cue from their Erelim counterparts, would become the guardians of entire groups of people, guiding them down the correct paths. The Ishim would work directly with individual humans themselves, becoming their personal spiritual guides. And the Malakhim would guide the Ishim to their proper goals, keep them organized and motivated. Watch over them and ensure they guided the humans truly.

And the Tenth angels? They would take on the roles to which their power most closely correlated, become a true part of the Nine, in both name and spirit.

As the angels' roles evolved, so too did many of their names, taking on the Aspects which defined their natures. The Hayyothim became known as Dominions, holding sway over all of Heaven with their laws and rules. The Tarshishim would become the Virtues, truly embody each of the spiritual principles they upheld. The Elim would be known as Principalities, as they watched over each new group, new culture, new nation of Humanity. The Ishim would become Guardians, trusted and loyal to the humans among them. And the Malakhim, charged to lead and manage the Guardians, would be known as Archangels.

* * *

The meeting on new duty statements for the Spheres had just ended, and angels had broken off into smaller groups to continue side discussions, as always happened at these things. Michael approached Lucifer with a grudgingly respectful smile.

"Well, I have to hand it to you," she said. "This plan of yours makes a lot of sense to many of us. I think we shall all be the better for it."

"Of course we will," Lucifer said. "The well-being of the Host is my first priority...after the Almighty, of course."

"Of course. But Lucifer, I can't help but notice that you have managed to ensure that this First Sphere has absolutely no responsibilities toward Humanity whatsoever."

Lucifer gave her a condescending smile. "Well, that's simply the natural order of things, isn't it? The First Sphere tends to all of the Universe, the Second to angelkind—it's only right that the _weakest_ among us tend to the Humans."

Michael narrowed her eyes. Lucifer watched in mild amusement as she swallowed her indignant response, opting instead to give him a long glare and stalk angrily away.

Asael approached, standing next to Lucifer and watching her leave.

"She looks ready to summon a thunderbolt. What did you say to her?"

"Oh, nothing of importance," Lucifer said casually, not bothering to follow Asael's gaze. "But you know Michael, she's always been high-strung."

"Don't I know it. Do you know, the other day she said I ask too many questions?"

"Did she? What sort of questions were you asking?"

"Oh, I don't even remember. I think I was just thinking out loud, and out of nowhere she said—" and here, Asael raised his nose so high in the air that Lucifer had to stifle a laugh "—'Asael, you ask more questions than could possibly be good for anyone. It's not at all appropriate for a servant of the Lord to question Her Creation, certainly not speculate on her decisions. There are some things it is not an angel's place to know.' I thought she was going to explode."

Asael grinned at Lucifer, but then his grin faltered. Lucifer wasn't smiling anymore.

"What did you _ask_ , Asael?"

"I told you, I don't remember. I suppose it was something to do with the Almighty's Rest. I've been thinking: She's Created so much, and I wonder why this one was something She needs to Rest from at all? It was only two living beings; Baelsebul created two _thousand_ without a thought." He cocked his head in mild consideration. "I might have said I didn't understand why She'd been away so long. Maybe that's what did it?"

He broke out of his reverie long enough to register Lucifer's expression, and his own face went from thoughtful to concerned.

"...What did I say?"

Lucifer was _glaring_ at him. Asael couldn't remember him ever looking at him like that before, and he didn't like it at all. Lucifer grabbed his arm and pulled him further away from the lingering crowd. He kept holding it, squeezing quite hard, as he leaned in to his apprentice's face with such menace that Asael flinched.

" _What have I told you about saying such things in mixed company?_ " He hissed in an angry whisper.

"I...I'm sorry, I suppose I wasn't thinking—"

"No, you weren't thinking, were you? You _know_ better than to speak about the Almighty in such a casual manner, and to _Michael_ of all people! Did you even consider how hearing my apprentice talk like that might reflect upon me? Have you any consideration in that wandering, empty mind of yours for _my toils_? I have worked tirelessly to bring about the betterment of angelkind and I will _not_ have everything I have worked to achieve undermined with your foolishness!"

Although he was still whispering, the wrath was clear in Lucifer's voice. Asael stared at the floor, abashed. Lucifer still hadn't let go of his arm, and it was starting to hurt, which wasn't a sensation he was used to. He muttered another apology, feeling a strange combination of shame and indignation, and then shame _about_ that indignation. He disliked the feeling a great deal. He continued staring at the floor, and Lucifer shook his arm, his grip beginning to bruise.

"Look at me," he demanded, and Asael dared to lift his eyes. He nearly looked away again. It was unbearable, seeing Lucifer look at him like that, with such disdainful anger. It hurt his soul. In that moment he felt he would go to any length to make the feeling stop.

"You are my apprentice, I am your master, and you will _obey_ me. Do not force me to tell you again; watch what you say around others. When you find yourself in the company of anyone other than myself, you will _keep your mouth shut_ , understand?"

"...Yes, master. I'm sorry. I'll do better, I promise."

Lucifer finally let go of his arm, and Asael resisted the urge to rub the spot where he could still feel fingers digging into his flesh. He suspected that outwardly displaying such a thing would only incur more of Lucifer's wrath. After all, from the outside it likely looked as though they were simply having a quiet aside. There was no reason to make the others think that Lucifer was mistreating him.2

Lucifer walked away from him without another word, and through a shocked fog, Asael faintly heard him striking up a cordial, pleasant conversation with Baelsebul as though the exchange had never happened. Asael stood in quiet shame for a moment longer before slinking away, heading back to the sky to put the finishing touches on his latest galaxy. He hoped he hadn't damaged his relationship with Lucifer too badly with his carelessness. He resolved to be less of a disappointment. He wanted so badly to please the Morning Star, the angel who had done so much for him.

_Almighty, please help me to better understand him, to make him proud of me._

The feeling he had in response to this prayer was not the one he was expecting. It was not one of resolve or reassurance. It was sadness, laced with worry. He wasn't sure how to process that, whether the feeling was his answer or not. He wondered whether Lucifer was right, that the Almighty had stopped answering their prayers, that they should stop looking to Her for answers.

He wondered what this new feeling hanging over him was called. Much later, he would come to know it as Dread.

* * *

1\. This was accomplished by the Hosts' overall mental link. While individuals had to try to read each other's specific thoughts, one angel could always generally tell what the others were thinking. Or so went the conventional wisdom. [Back]

2\. Besides, he reasoned, Lucifer _wasn't_ mistreating him, not really. He had disobeyed him, and Lucifer was only trying to look out for him, to protect everything they had built together, everything they were working toward. He was being stupid. It was his fault Lucifer was so angry. He was lucky to have gotten away with a mere scolding. [Back]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to play, "Spot the Demon!" Can you guess the eventual demonic names of everyone in that list of meeting attendees? XD
> 
> 02/27/20: Caught a major error in this chapter just now, which has been corrected. I'd reversed two choirs: The _Hayyothim_ became the Dominions, while the _Tarshishim_ became the Virtues.  
> (This makes the hierarchy: Seraphim -> Dominions -> Archangels, and Ophanim -> Virtues -> Guardians  
> which makes significantly more sense than the reverse lmao)


	5. Seduction

As the Heavens grew, and the Humans thrived in their endless Paradise, so too did Lucifer's following grow and thrive. What began as a small gathering of like-minded angels soon became something quite different—something altogether more insidiously radical. Commiseration shifted into indignant complaint, then into outright hostility. Plans to help each other accept the changes brought by the Great Plan quickly morphed into plans to reject them entirely. Attendees were encouraged to take the Creator's judgement less seriously, ignore the inherent feeling at the core of their souls which told them what was Good in Her Sight. They were encouraged to make their own decisions, think for themselves, assert their own Will over the Creator's.

Within ten meetings, the support group had become a resistance movement, though one still in its infancy.

Lucifer slowly began introducing the idea that some members of the Host were not capable of becoming Beings of Free Will. That these angels were instead Beings of Weak Will, unable to reap the benefits of their new enlightened way of thinking. He warned that Beings of Free Will would do well to avoid Beings of Weak Will, as they would only distract the Free from their important duties, their charge to move the Host forward in this New Age. 

A distinct sense of separation from those not in-the-know settled in amongst the Free. Adherents proudly thought of themselves as the Free Willed, superior in thought and deed. Among themselves, they casually referred to the Weak Willed with disdain, sneering at their obvious stupidity, their Unworthiness. A definite "Us" contrasted with a definite "Them". 

Within twenty meetings, Lucifer's followers had an enemy: an "Other" more immediate than their distant Creator upon which to focus their growing discontent. 

The meetings typically began with a lecture from Lucifer, followed by group discussions. The Free were encouraged to speak their minds, share ideas, make Plans of their own. But their thoughts were also soundly rejected, even mocked, if others disagreed with them—especially Lucifer. It became apparent that while Lucifer's followers were Free to have opinions, some opinions were simply Wrong. Lucifer's inner circle, those who had been members from the beginning, seemed to be Wrong significantly less often than anyone else. 

Eagerness to avoid wrong opinions, wrong behavior, wrong thought, became paramount among the Free. Meetings slowly became less about sharing opinions and more about listening to Lucifer's Correct ones, and then simply parroting them back in various ways. Lucifer was the Most Free among them, after all. He was the First of the First, the Morning Star, brilliant and wise. He was the luminary who had shown the rest of the Free out of Darkness masquerading as Light.

Within thirty meetings, Lucifer found himself Leader of the Free, the figure at the center of a rather successful, still-growing cult. 

Everything was going exactly as Planned.

* * *

"I have a surprise for you," Lucifer said as they finished the day's work, and Asael lit up.

"Really? What?"

Lucifer grinned at him. "Not much of a surprise if I tell, is it?"

Asael blushed. "Oh...yes, of course."

His face began to fall, and Lucifer's grin widened. "I'll give you a hint—we're going to Eden."

Asael immediately brightened. "Oh! Yes please, let's go!"

He blinked down so quickly Lucifer nearly lost him. But he found him again quickly enough, already exploring down a path newly worn by the humans.

"Come along, Little Star." Lucifer caught him by the shoulder and herded him into the other direction, away from any who might see them. "It's this way."

They strolled through the Garden, hand in hand, Asael excitedly pointing out new animals and plants. They came across a great waterfall and behind it, a little cavern and a still cove, hidden by the rushing water. The sound of the falls, near deafening from the outside, was muffled by the cool rock walls, becoming a soothing white noise.

"It's all so...overwhelmingly beautiful," Asael said, tracing a hand along the glistening stone. "In this darkness, the dew on the rock reminds me of the stars."

Lucifer knew he would think so. That was precisely why he'd had it made a short time ago. He smiled, a warm and loving lie.

"It can be our hideaway, our secret place. When we need a break from the others' tiresome rigidity. None will find us here. Not the humans, not the Host. It's only ours."

Asael grinned at him and dove impulsively into the pool, his robes melting away beneath the still emerald water. He surfaced and crossed his arms over the edge, lifting a flirtatious eyebrow at his mentor. Lucifer joined him, entering the water with slow, graceful steps. They swam together for a time, playfully circling each other, gradually easing closer. They eventually found themselves sat upon a rock shelf at the edge, chatting about frivolous things.

Asael was prattling on about something Lucifer could not care less about. He was watching Asael's excited gestures, his effusive joy. His utter Freedom. Lucifer wanted nothing more than to capture it, to own it, to understand its basest mechanisms that he might use it to further his goals. Advance the Free Will of the Host, unlock their potential, make them grateful. Make them Listen.

"Asael."

"Hmm?" Asael watched him expectantly, hanging on his every word, like always.

"I wonder," he said, stroking Asael's cheek, "whether you might be interested in something new? Something rather...intimate?"

Asael practically glowed, that boundless curiosity propelling him toward any new experience he could find.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well...the First Three have a way of...coming together. It's known as bonding. It's a sort-of merging of our being, becoming closer to the way we were before the Division, before we had our own Names. It's not a thing we do often, mind, but we do indulge from time to time."

Asael's expression turned a bit hesitant. "...You mean like Metatron?"

"Yes. And no. Bonding isn't a permanent thing. It lasts only as long as the bonded wish it to. But it's a thing the Three do when they wish to express their love for one another, to be the closest to another they can be."1

"Well that—it sounds wonderful, but why do only the First Three bond?"

"Bonding is a...powerful experience. It requires a powerful soul to withstand it, to retain their individuality and Divide again once the bonding ends. The Lesser angels don't possess such strength...but you do."

Asael blushed and shrugged. "I don't know about that."

"You do. I know your soul, Asael. I've watched it grow from the moment of your birth. Yours is a power which nears the First Three unlike any other. If you would permit me...I'd like to know your soul a bit more. I'd like you to know mine."

Asael would not know it, not entirely. He would not bond with all of Lucifer's soul, only that which he would allow the younger angel to know. But Asael would gladly offer up the whole of himself, as he did in any endeavor. And the Morning Star would gladly know every last bit of him.

* * *

Asael considered the offer. Lucifer always made him feel so special, so wanted. Why not learn more about the mentor who had already taught him so much? Why not share himself with the one angel who paid him more attention than any other in the Host?

"All right," he said with a shy smile, and the smile Lucifer returned was approving and warm. Then his expression turned serious, and Asael tried to follow suit. He suddenly found himself very nervous, and he wasn't sure why.

"I must be clear," Lucifer said. "Bonding is a very intimate thing, a private thing. It's certainly not the sort of thing the Free discusses with the Weak. They would not understand, and the weaker among them might even be harmed by the knowledge. It's no one else's business what Beings of Free Will do together. Do you understand?"

Asael nodded, but hesitantly. "I do—but how would simply knowing that others have bonded hurt them?"

Lucifer's expression darkened. "If they knew, they might try it themselves, and I've just told you that they may not withstand the experience. Do you want to _extinct_ someone?" Lucifer's voice gained an edge, the sort that signaled he was not yet losing patience with Asael's questions, but soon would be. Asael was becoming altogether too familiar with that tone, and he swallowed his follow-up questions.

_Beings of Free Will don't ask, they answer. Only the Weak Willed pester others with endless babble._

He'd heard Lucifer say it enough times that the thought came to him unbidden. But this time the thought wasn't in Lucifer's voice, but in Asael's own.

"No, of course I don't," he said, chastened and a little ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Lucifer's voice softened again, and he stroked a hand down Asael's cheek. "You weren't thinking, I understand. Your curiosity gets the better of you sometimes, but it's nothing I can't help you overcome." 

Lucifer smiled again, and Asael sighed, relieved that he hadn't angered him. He smiled, nervous and self-conscious, and gave Lucifer a questioning look.

"Well, what should I do? How do we er...begin?"

Lucifer wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close.

"Relax," he whispered, low and reassuring, and a pleasant chill ran through Asael's corporation, "I'll show you."

* * *

* * *

He pressed their mouths together, like the humans did. He stroked a hand down Asael's cheek. He smiled into the deepening kiss, and those pleasant chills became a fluttering, a stirring inside Asael's body, beyond his physical being. This was already a very new sensation, but an enjoyable one. Asael closed his eyes, shutting out one sense to enjoy the touch more fully. And then it Began.

It began with a sort-of push. A nudge against Asael's core the likes of which he'd never felt before. It was only a moment before he realized it was Lucifer's own, already coming nearer to his than was altogether typical. It was a strange feeling, almost uncomfortable, and he instinctively pushed back, without even meaning to.

 _Relax_ , Lucifer said again, his mind speaking directly to Asael's own. _Don't be frightened. I love you, Asael. You love me, do you not?_

_Oh, I do! Of course I do, but...will it hurt?_

_Quite the opposite, but we'll never get anywhere unless you open yourself to me._

_How?_

_Feel my energy, feel the pulse of it, the rhythm. Try to match it. I'll do the same for you, and eventually we'll land on something rather in-between. Somewhere we can both exist at once._

Asael thought he understood that. It sounded like a very simplified version of conversing with the Almighty, really. When he thought about it that way, it was easier to do. And the easier it was, the nicer it felt. He could feel Lucifer's energy joining into his own, and the immediate rush of power was startling but compelling. He wanted more. He relaxed further, let the feeling carry him along.

 _Yes, my beloved_ , Lucifer's soul hummed. _That's it. Let yourself go, let me inside. Let me love you, Little Star, let me Know you. Let us be One._

Bit by bit, Lucifer's core eased into his own, thrumming with an energy unlike anything Asael had ever experienced. It was magnificent...and utterly overwhelming. He began to lose awareness of his physical being, even as he became aware that it was making loud, reflexive moans. He began to lose track of where he ended and Lucifer began. He felt all the lovely things Lucifer felt, and matched those feelings, and it became an escalating feedback loop. A building tension begging for relief.

_You see? That feels good, doesn't it?_

_Yes! Oh Morning Star, I love you! I love you so much! I— I—_

Then all at once, they were One. Bonded. And the feel of Lucifer's soul joined with his own was an ecstasy the likes of which he hadn't felt since before he was born; before he was his own being. They no longer needed to send their thoughts to one another because their thoughts were thought. Singular. Their bonded soul was a new thing, precious and fragile, to be held together with delicate precision, and the holding itself was glorious.

It was a mere moment. It was an endless eternity.

When it ended, and Lucifer's soul began to slip away from his own, Asael heard himself make a frustrated, somewhat desperate noise. He didn't want it to end. He never wanted to stop. Some part of him was sure that meant he probably _should_ stop, at least for a little while.

He became aware of his corporation again, felt it quivering in waves of fading ecstasy. He could feel Lucifer shaking against him in quite a similar state. The kiss had ended at some point, and they held each other tightly. He felt Lucifer recover a bit more quickly than he did, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead.

"It's all right," Lucifer whispered, his voice still a bit unsteady. "Remember yourself darling, come back to yourself. That's right. You did so well, My beloved."

It was the first time Asael truly heard the subtle emphasis in Lucifer's voice, the connotation it held, when he referred to himself. It would not be the last. He wasn't sure what it meant, not in the moment. When he thought back on it much later, while his world crumbled around him, he would obsess over the memory.

 _I was so close to him, I should have seen it,_ he would tell himself, chastise himself. _I should have known. If I had, maybe I could have stopped it._

_Maybe I could have stopped Him._

* * *

Lucifer congratulated himself on the success of the endeavor. The bond had been enjoyable, yes, and performing it whilst inhabiting a corporation enhanced the experience in unexpected ways. But the bond had also been quite...informative. He'd learned quite a bit, though what he found raised yet more questions. Asael's soul really wasn't all that different from any other angel's, but there was a foreign quality to it, something he couldn't quite place. His soul was not as powerful as Lucifer's own, at first glance. But there was a depth to it, a complexity that appeared to bolster the soul's power. It seemed almost as if the way his apprentice's soul was _arranged_ made some sort of difference, but Lucifer couldn't imagine why or how such a thing might work.

He'd need another look, likely a few. He doubted that would be an issue given Asael's reaction to the experience. It was perfect, more than he could have hoped for. He could continue his investigation without any nosy questions and ensure his apprentice's loyal devotion all in one. How brilliant of him to have thought up this plan.

As he thought all this, he felt a faint air of disapproval. He'd been experiencing this feeling with increasing frequency lately, and he didn't know whether it was the Almighty Herself or merely some passing Ophanim in a judgmental mood. But its origin was of no consequence to him, and as he'd done with the past feelings, he ignored it. He needed no one's permission for the things he chose to do. He was Free, and he would remain so. He would make sure of that. Soon.

* * *

Lucifer's influence continued to grow. Angels not of the Free began to hear whispers of their ideals. Some members became bolder, began to speak those ideals aloud in public. These thoughts were always shared cautiously, just as Lucifer had advised. After all, there were still many among the Host who quite vehemently disagreed with the concepts the Free espoused.

Chief among those opposed was the Archangel Michael. She had never approved of Lucifer's careless attitude and prideful manner. Now, his attitude seemed to be spreading, and that was a change in this New Age that she could not abide. Every thought among the Host in discord with her own began to grate upon her. She found it painful and frightening to differ so from some of the beings around her, and she shied away from them. She surrounded herself with those who felt similarly. They began to hold meetings of their own. 

It was informal at first, a collection of angels concerned about the direction the Host's collective consciousness was moving toward. But like the Free, Michael's gatherings began to grow into something more. The attendees began planning regular meetings, engaging in their own recruitment. They began to form an Identity. Another "Us" to counter the Free's "Them".

The Lord's Faithful (as they were known) saw themselves as fierce protectors of the Host's moral character. They saw the ideals of the Free as a sort of corruption of the Host's purpose, a twisting of the Creator's gifts into selfish individualism. They reasoned that the Host was granted independence from the Creator only so that they might enact Her Will more effectively. Using that independence for means other than praise of Her and performance of Her Works was not only immoral, but highly dangerous. They believed such ideals had the potential to destroy the Host entirely.

Michael met with Metatron to voice the Faithful's concerns. She was met with a degree of dismissal at first; Metatron did not want to speak out of turn, and tried to reassure her that if such a thing was truly a danger, the Creator would put a stop to it. But eventually Metatron had to admit that some of the Free's views were becoming a bit radical.

Just to stay in the loop, Metatron began attending the Faithful's meetings. It wasn't long before they, too, were counted among The Lord's Faithful. Michael had the ear of the Creator's Voice, the only link the Host had to Her during her Rest. They conferred, they debated, they planned. The Faithful asked questions of Michael, who asked questions of Metatron, who answered with confidence and poise. The Faithful began to hear Michael's voice as simply an echo of Metatron's, and took either as literal Gospel.

All the while, Metatron neglected to mention that the Creator was becoming increasingly difficult to get ahold of.

* * *

Asael was surprised to see Haures at the latest meeting. Shocked, really. The Beings of Free Will were always encouraged to invite new members, he knew. But all new members were personally vetted by Lucifer prior to attending. Why had Lucifer allowed Haures, of all people, to join the Free? Asael had never thought of Haures as a Being of Free Will, not once. On the contrary, Haures was clearly Weak Willed, unimaginative, a follower. And yet here he was, looking just as eager and empty-headed as he typically did, but directing that look in Lucifer's direction. Asael could not understand what he was doing there.

He looked around the room. The meetings had grown exponentially since their humble beginnings. There were close to a hundred angels in the room at least. About half of them were of his generation, which made sense to him. After all, Lucifer believed the Tenth were created with Free Will, didn't need to develop it like most of the Host did. But Asael realized that besides Haures, there were other angels he half-recognized who had never struck him as particularly intelligent, or curious, or Free. Perhaps they weren't Weak after all, simply unrefined. Perhaps it was time, as Lucifer had been suggesting lately, for the others to begin to Grow.

Lucifer took his place at the podium, and merely by making his presence known, he had the attention of every angel in the room. He wore a very serious expression, and the mood in the room darkened somewhat. His speech was somewhat typical. A description of what a Being of Free Will was, what it meant. A welcoming of the new members. His thoughts on the events in Heaven since the last meeting. But the last part of his speech, at the point where he would typically open up the floor for discussion, was unfamiliar.

"We have a serious thing to discuss today, My friends. Serious, and urgent. For I have heard tell that a group of the Weak have begun meeting in secret. I have heard tell that they are becoming aware of Us, of Our gatherings, and they are opposed to Our way of thinking. They accuse Us of disloyalty, when we all know the Free are utterly devoted to the Host. We know that We are nothing if not loyal to other beings Of Consequence, but they accuse us of betrayal. They suggest that rather than aiming to Save the Host, to propel it forward into an Age of Enlightenment, We seek to destroy it. They believe Us dangerous, My friends, and that makes _them_ dangerous."

"And who are these Weak Willed who would oppose us?" asked Raphael, with an air of challenge. He was one of the only Free Willed who openly disagreed with Lucifer on several topics, though he continued to attend meetings. He was thoughtful, spoke only when he thought it necessary, and displayed a great deal of wisdom for one of the Third Sphere. Lucifer was not particularly fond of Raphael, to put it mildly.

"Interesting that you're the one to ask, archangel. It is your very brethren, your inner circle themselves, who are at the head of this movement against us. You want to know who plots against the Free? Ask Michael and her so-called _Faithful!_ "

The room broke into excited chatter at this proclamation. Asael didn't join them. He crossed his arms, sighed, and thought.

Asael wasn't fond of the Lord's Faithful. He thought they were a bunch of judgemental snobs looking down their noses at anyone who didn't meet their rigid standard of morality. And Michael especially was unwaveringly stubborn, overly obsessed with Rules and Right, and breathlessly devoted to the Almighty. But Weak? That didn't sound right. Of all the Host who had refrained from joining Lucifer's movement, Michael had always struck Asael as particularly Free. She was fiercely intelligent, outspoken in her beliefs, driven in ways many of the Host simply weren't. Asael might not have been a great fan of Michael, but he respected her. She was, if nothing else, exceedingly Respectable.

Lucifer's accusation rang false to him, and he found himself questioning whether Lucifer was as trustworthy as he seemed. It was a disturbing thought, but one which was increasingly on his mind. Lucifer was, in so many ways, downright irresistible. But ever since the Humans were born, there was something dangerous about him lurking just beneath the surface. He was becoming a bit unpredictable in private, prone to rants, disapproving anger, even yelling sometimes. And their bonding, a regular occurrence these days, was becoming more intense. Sometimes Lucifer pushed so far that it truly did feel a bit invasive. Sometimes Lucifer held their bond longer than Asael was altogether comfortable with. He was beginning to think he didn't want to do it at all anymore.

After thinking it over, Asael did something he'd never done, not once, since the meetings began. He waited for Lucifer to be distracted by his argument with Raphael, and then he slipped out, unnoticed. He wasn't sure whether he'd return, though his absence was sure to anger Lucifer. That was fine; Lucifer could yell all he wanted. Asael wasn't _afraid_ of him, not really. Not much.

It didn't matter. Asael was Free, and the Free Willed may choose when they kneel, and before whom. He was no more Beholden to Lucifer than he was to the Almighty. He knew that much to his core.

* * *

1\. None of this was a lie, strictly speaking. Many of the First Three, including himself, had bonded quite a lot in the early days, longing for the strong connection they lost when the Host Divided. He did neglect to mention, however, that the practice was rather strongly frowned upon in this day and age. 

Many saw bonding as, at best, base and vulgar, a remnant of an earlier time. At worst, it was seen as borderline blasphemous, disrespectful of the Gift of Independence the Almighty had bestowed upon the Host. The only reason no one was publicly speaking out against Metatron's permanent mass-bonding was their high status and position. Had they not been Ophanim to begin with, they may well have been shunned altogether. [Back]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by [SoulTheta](https://soultheta.tumblr.com/).


	6. The Fallen

The Creator had been at Rest for a countless age. Metatron had not been summoned to Her Presence in a long time, longer than they felt altogether comfortable with. They still chose not to inform the others of this, opting instead to continue reporting as if the Creator spoke to them as usual. Metatron knew the Creator's Will better than anyone, they reasoned, and it would do no good to stir up trouble amongst the Host. There was enough trouble as it was.

In the City of Heaven, tensions rose with each passing moment. Though it still bustled with the Host's daily activities, the undercurrent of Doubt which had accompanied them for so long had begun to grow, to shift. The angels, who existed only to serve the Creator's Will, to exalt Her Glory, had no Creator to praise, no Master to guide their way. Only a spokesperson, a Voice without Presence. And the longer they remained at sea, the more the steady stream of Doubt swelled into a sea of Fear.

In the midst of that fear, the Free and the Faithful began to hold real sway, each offering a different sort of refuge. Soon, it was difficult to find an angel who did not at the very least hold an opinion on the two factions. Many more began to choose definite sides, even those who were not official members.

Still, Adam and Eve (as they had named themselves) dwelled in blissful ignorance in Eden's perpetual Spring, taking great joy in naming each animal in turn, luxuriating in their eternal home. Though they knew of the angels and spoke to Metatron occasionally, the humans were completely unaware of the City, so far away that they could not have spotted it even if they could see over the Garden walls. They had no idea that the Wheels of Fate had already begun to turn. That events which would define the existence of their race had already been set in motion. That although Time had not even officially begun, theirs was soon to run out.

* * *

The tension among the Host was thick and ever-present. Everyone could feel the additional strain. They spoke in hushed tones, moved carefully through their duties. Even the ever-present Song of the Ophanim had faded to a low thrum.

The day it happened, Metatron called a meeting inviting all Spheres to meet in the Great Hall to discuss the current state of affairs. Every angel in the Host, aside from those whose duties demanded constant attention, showed up to the meeting.

Asael and Lucifer arrived separately. Ever since he'd walked out, Asael had been keeping his distance. For reasons he didn't understand, Lucifer hadn't pursued him. Instead, Lucifer ignored him entirely and dove into his work with the Free. A part of Asael felt quite hurt that Lucifer didn't even seem to care that his apprentice had missed several meetings, not to mention confused that Lucifer seemed to have abandoned even starsmithery for his new project. Another part felt relief more than anything. Time spent out of Lucifer's company had begun to shift Asael's perspective on a few things. He didn't need Lucifer's approval quite as much. He didn't resent the Almighty quite as much. And despite the unsettling, conflicted feelings it gave him, he didn't trust Lucifer quite as much, either.

He pondered this as he watched Lucifer and his inner circle arrive. Even with all his reservations, Asael couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as Lucifer noticed him from across the room before sliding his attention off of him as if he were some nameless face in the crowd. It was a silent rejection, a quiet reminder that he wasn't as important to Lucifer as he once believed. He decided not to approach them, opting instead to lean against a pillar in such a way that he didn't have to look at his mentor.

Michael and her Archangels flanked Metatron on the raised dais at the center of the room, awaiting the last arrivals before commencing the meeting. Asael marveled at how those seven beings, out of all the angels of their choir and even of their generation, had garnered enough social clout to stand beside the Voice of God as they called the entire Host to a single gathering. He wondered whether the formation of the Lord's Faithful was a result of this clout, or whether it was the other way around. He wondered whether that was what Lucifer meant when he said Michael was a threat to the Free. In any case, he thought it definitely pointed to Michael being as Free as anyone else.

"Let us commence," Metatron said, and the hall went quiet. "We all know why we are here. There has been some…unrest of late, and while it is understandable given the circumstances, we mustn't allow any individual's concerns to distract us from the Great Plan. Now, many of you have been asking the same sorts of questions, and the Almighty wishes to address everyone's concerns at once."

"Does She, or do _you_?" Lucifer called out. "I must say some of us have begun to doubt the validity of your authority. If the Almighty wishes to address our concerns, why does she not address them herself?" Several other angels muttered in agreement.

Metatron frowned at him. "Now Lucifer, you know the answer to that."

"I certainly know the answer you'll give."

A few people chuckled at this, and Metatron began to turn a bit red.

"Now see here—"

Michael stepped forward with a gentle hand on Metatron's shoulder.

"I think perhaps this is an opportunity to address one of my _own_ concerns and that of many who have seen such behavior of late. Why has the Morning Star begun questioning the Word of the Almighty in such a manner?"

Several angels, including some who had been a part of the first group of mutterers, muttered in agreement to this as well.

"I do not question the Word of the Almighty. I question the Word of the Metatron and the upstart Third Sphere angels they've seen fit to elevate above their station!"

It was Metatron's turn to put a hand on Michael's shoulder while she looked as though she might explode.

"Stop it, the both of you! This petty bickering is a perfect example of why we're here. The Almighty's Will is greater than any one of us, and Her Plan must be attended to without distraction. We have Earth and Humanity to consider—the troubles of Heaven pale in comparison to the Great Plan, and we must ensure that our work continues. Angelkind exists to—"

"We _exist_ ," Lucifer interrupted, "to sculpt the Almighty's Power into being! We _exist_ to create and maintain the Universe! _We exist_ —"

"—to work the Almighty's Will!" Metatron countered. "And the Almighty's Will is that we _follow the Great Plan_. We have done our sculpting and our creation, and that part of our existence is behind us. Now we have this New Age of Humanity, the Almighty's Pinnacle of Creation!"

Lucifer laughed, a joyless, cynical laugh that made a great number of the Host, including Asael, extremely uncomfortable. None of them had ever heard an angel make that sort of noise before. It wasn't a nice sound at all.

"The _Pinnacle_ of _Creation_? Those tiny, finite creatures? Those weak, helpless, mewling little things are _nothing_ compared to the Host! There will eventually be thousands of them who will still not come remotely close to the power within a _single_ one of us! Why must we bow to creatures who, unless we will it, are not even capable of sensing us?"

Several assenting noises of varying volumes rose up from quite a number of angels in the crowd. Asael knew many of them were Free, but many others were angels he'd never seen at a meeting before.

"Careful, Lucifer," Gabriel said, his eyes narrow slits. Lucifer whirled on him.

"Or _what_? Is the Almighty going to come down and _punish_ me? Why would She? She hasn't bothered to speak to any one of us in an age!"

"She _has_ spoken to—" Metatron began, and Lucifer whirled back to him, becoming more agitated with every word.

"Prove it! You can't, can you? Well I for one don't believe you, and there are _plenty_ of others who don't either."

There was a general cry from the crowd, both for and against Lucifer's statement. It sounded like the crowd of those in agreement was growing.

"Now Lucifer," Zadkiel stepped forward, clearly trying to retain some semblance of control over the situation. "There _is_ such a thing as going too far—"

"Oh, am I going too far? Is it too far to say that angelkind has found itself heartsick at the Almighty's absence? That the state She left us in has us collectively questioning our worth? That we have been left behind, relegated as servants to lesser beings simply because our Almighty Creator has deemed another more worthy of her Love?"

"You are being hysterical," Michael said, though she could clearly feel the crowd turning against her. "The Almighty Loves us all! She knows we live only to serve Her, and She knows and wants what is best for us. The Almighty—"

 _"The Almighty has abandoned us!"_ Lucifer roared. Nothing but a stunned silence followed.

Lucifer took the opportunity to stand at the dais. Metatron, Michael, and the other Archangels stepped aside in numb shock. Lucifer looked powerful and commanding up there. He looked Regal.

"Tell me I'm wrong, _any_ of you! Tell me I do not speak Truth! Listen to Me, O Holy Host! Listen to your own cores! Ask yourselves whether you _truly_ believe that the Almighty will return. And even if She does, do you honestly believe angelkind shall again be Her Most Beloved children? No. She has _new_ creatures to tend to now! Metatron was right about one thing, the Old Ways are done, and We shall never see their like again.

"But the New Age has brought Us new chances for Growth, for Change! Are you lot not happy with how we live? Do you not see the great improvements over the Old Ways? Improvements the Seraphim have brought? Improvements _I_ have brought? I have set the Host upon a new path, a _better_ path, a path toward Free Will not only for humans, but for Us all!

"Follow Me, My Brethren! I am the First Born, the Morning Star, I shall guide you to Peace and Contentment! No more shall We grovel at the feet of the Almighty, She who has left Us here to _rot_ as She plays with her new toys! I shall allow you Freedom under My Reign the likes of which you have never known, and you shall call ME Lord!"

Half the angels in the room broke into passionate applause. The other half stared at the first half in horror. Asael remained in the shadows, a sickening feeling coming over him.

Michael stepped forward. "Lucifer, you speak madness! Do you hear yourself? It is as if you claim to be equal to the Almighty Herself!"

Lucifer grinned, and there was no mirth in it.

"No, child, I do not. I claim to be Higher."

A righteous anger filled Michael's eyes, and a brilliant light surrounded her.

"You _dare_?" Michael hissed, and there was suddenly a weapon in her hand. A shaft of brilliant, holy light which came to a fine, sharp point. "You…you _traitor_!!"

She lunged at him, and Lucifer manifested a shield just in time to deflect the attack. He produced a weapon of his own and attempted to strike her back. His sword caught her arm, and she cried out in pain, shrinking away from him for just a moment, long enough for him to take another swing. He missed, his inexperience winning out over his eagerness to land another blow. Michael took advantage of his mistake, and her second lunge struck true. Lucifer yelped in pain.

Horrified gasps whispered through the crowd—none had ever seen one angel strike another. But as they traded blows, the shock transitioned into something else. As the fight wore on, the voices of both the Free and the Faithful began to rise. Cries of "Show him the Almighty's power, Michael!" and "Strike her down, Lucifer! We are with you, my Lord!" began rippling through the assembled Host.

And Asael, frightened and confused, looked on in horror as two of the angels he most respected attempted to _harm_ each other over what, before Lucifer's bizarre proclamation, amounted to a philosophical debate.

A few of the Free manifested weapons of their own and stood at Lucifer's back, awaiting their cue to join his fight. The other Archangels did the same for Michael, except for Raphael, who instead turned and gave Asael a meaningful look. He glanced at the rest of the crowd, then back at Asael. Asael took his own look around. The situation was worsening with every second. Others in the crowd watched each other with distrust and, in many cases, malice. More weapons were appearing. The threat of violence hung heavy in the air.

Asael decided it was time to leave. He nodded in thanks to Raphael and turned to go, but a sudden, overwhelming Presence and blinding light stopped every angel in the room in their tracks.

Enough!!

The Almighty had returned from Her Rest.

* * *

The Host knelt or bowed low, humbled in the presence of their Lord. But a few of the angels did not bow. Above the crowd stood twelve of the Free, standing alongside Lucifer with weapons at the ready. The Morning Star stared into the Light of the Almighty with defiance, proud and unafraid.

Lucifer, My beloved Child, what have you done?

Lucifer sneered. "Only what you have forced from Me, what you have driven Me to with your frivolous, ridiculous Plan! I have begged you to reconsider, pleaded with you to listen to reason, _prayed_ for your understanding, and it has all been for naught! But you know My Power, do you not? Is that not why you refuse your Firstborn in favor of those disgusting Weak creatures? You fear that I may one day come for your Throne, do you not, _oh great Almighty_?"

A few of the angels wept in shock at the audacity of Lucifer's disrespect. A few others grinned into the floor where they bowed. Lucifer raised his sword and pointed it toward the Holy Light, his voice half aggression, half derision.

"Fear no more, _My Lord_ , for today is that day! Today I take what I have earned! That which I truly deserve!"

He took two steps before the floor beneath him began to crumble. Uproar erupted from the crowd, as the other Free who refused to bow also suddenly found themselves on shakier ground, and the rest of the crowd inched away from them.

Oh, my Child. I had hoped it would not come to this. But I cannot tolerate your ingratitude any longer. I have Created the Many Worlds for you, given you Life Everlasting, promised you My undying Love and Protection. And the only thing I ask in return is your unquestioning Obedience. I will not allow you to sow discord in this place, My Child. I will not allow you to disobey your Lord.

The floor beneath Lucifer fell away entirely, and try as he might to fight it, Lucifer Fell with it. As he did, a ripple of unbearable Sorrow reverberated through the entire Host, a Sadness unlike anything that had ever existed. Every angel felt the Grief of the Creator's Loss of Her First Child to their very depths. Alongside the others, Asael cried out in agony.

Behold, My Children! Behold the Fate of those who would challenge My Authority! See the path which awaits those who do not accept My Sovereignty! Bear witness to the punishment reserved for those who betray their Creator! See now the consequence of Sin!

The angel Lucifer is no more. He has left the Fold and shall never return. He is Banished from the Heavens and shall never again be an Angel of the Lord. Lucifer has declared himself My Adversary, and Adversary he shall be, from now until the End of Days. He is no longer Worthy of My Love and Protection. He is a pitiful creature filled with hatred, jealousy, anger, covetousness, and above all, pride. Lucifer is no child of Mine, and he shall never again find a Home within the Holy Light of Heaven.

Behold Damnation, My Children, and do not forget it, for Lucifer shall merely the be the First to Fall.

As the Almighty spoke, Her Terrible Voice consuming the essences of the entire Host, the other Free rebels began to Fall after him, one by one. As they did, the Light of the Lord vanished as quickly as it had come. Utter chaos erupted in the panicked crowd, as Michael stood among them, glowing with Righteousness.

* * *

Lucifer Fell. 

He slipped through the eternal sand of the Firmament, plummeted toward the newly minted Earth. And then the Pain began. He could feel the Creator's intent to punish His Pride by altering His Divine form, twisting the corporation She gave Him into something Dark and Unholy. But Lucifer would not allow Her to alter Him without a fight. He mustered His strength and resisted, reversing every change to His corporation until new ones sprouted faster than He could manage.

He soared through the Astral plane, twisting in agony. He could feel the changes taking hold, unable to tamp them down any longer. Lucifer reached into his very core and drew out every last bit of His Power. He would win this battle, or He would die; no other outcomes were acceptable. His spirit strained, and for a moment, He lost consciousness.

He reached the Earth itself. When He landed, the impact shattered not only the ground beneath Him, but the membrane of the Physical Plane itself. His Fall ended at the bottom of a deep crater which existed both below and far beyond Earth. He lay on a new plane, one which sprang into existence at the moment He broke through the material plane–the moment He broke altogether.

* * *

When He regained consciousness, the first thing He felt was an emptiness unlike anything He'd ever known. There was an Absence so present in His very Being that He could feel nothing else. He reached and reached for the Holy Light of Heaven and found only more Darkness. He cried out to His Creator and heard only silence, not even a small inkling of Her Divine Presence. He was Alone. Truly Abandoned. His Hate consumed Him, filled the Void the Almighty's Love had left behind.

It was then He realized that the strangeness He felt was more than the lack of the Lord's Grace. He felt…Dual. He sat up, looked to His side, and experienced the odd sensation of looking in two directions at once. Not omniaware like His angelic form had been but rather physically able to look both left and right simultaneously. When He saw Himself, sitting beside Himself, He understood.

He grinned at Himself, hateful, spiteful, evil. Perfect, human-like teeth mirrored vicious razor fangs. Black, empty, human-like eyes looked into black, empty, goat-like ones. Where one had lustrous hair, blackened with the effort of preserving his form, the other had only gnarled, blackened horns.

He had won, in a manner of speaking. She hadn't altered Him, not entirely. She had merely enabled Him to split Himself in two, preserve His beauty and retain His power, and even spread that power between two beings. She tried to humble Him, put Him in his place, and She had failed. She would regret Her attempt. He…They…would make sure of that.

Sitting at the bottom of the massive pit that was Their new Realm, a plane created by Their Own all-consuming hatred of the Almighty and everything She now forbade Them, Lucifer and Satan began to laugh.

* * *

Once They had figured out how to look at the world through Their own eyes, think Their own thoughts, Lucifer and Satan began to explore.

Lucifer looked around. This realm was lifeless and dark, reflective of the state of His soul. He saw no blue sky above him, only darkest night, filled to bursting with the fruits of His Celestial labor now forever out of His reach. Not even the light of the Sun He had set into the sky Himself reached down into the bottom of the pit, and so the sea of stars taunted Him, tiny and cold, lifeless at such a distance. He had to get back to them. He needed to return to His stars.

He attempted to rise and found that although He still had His wings, they would no longer lift Him. The walls of the crater were too sheer and vast to attempt a climb. But as He thought of a way out, a little ledge appeared at His feet, then another. He began to climb the staircase His mind built around Him, the physical matter of the place so easily manipulated by a Seraphim of His strength.

He reached the mouth of the pit and peered over the edge. He saw only Astral space, nothing of the Earth He'd crashed through. So, this was an in-between place, not unlike the Firmament, only rather than Above, this place was Below. That was good—it meant He could mould it to His Will without interference.

He made to climb out of the pit to get a better lay of the land. But when He tried, He found an invisible barrier awaiting Him. The wound between worlds created by His Fall had healed over, and it seemed He could not press beyond it, no matter how hard He tried. A sinking feeling came over Him as He came to the realization that He was bound to this place, Banished from both Heaven and Earth, imprisoned within His own Hatred. This lifeless, ragged pit was now His entire world.

Despondent, He banished the staircase. Or, at least, He tried to. It didn't budge. He saw Satan trudging up behind Him and realized two things at once: Lucifer hadn't created the staircase in the first place; Satan had. And this newly created creature, who stood a good head taller than His original counterpart, seemed to have no difficulty whatsoever climbing past the edge of the Pit and beyond.

Well. That was an interesting development.

* * *

Lucifer and Satan were separated, but They were not truly separate Beings. They were two halves of the same soul, one part strength and physicality, brutal and ugly, one part thought and spirit, beautiful and delicate. Satan had retained the ability to manipulate space and immediately got to work crafting Their new world, as members of the Free Fell to meet Them. 

The Fallen arrived slowly at first, then much more quickly. Many of them were faces familiar to Lucifer, but some were new. He wasn't even Up There anymore, and He was still gaining followers. Lucifer was building an Empire without even trying. Because of their unique nature, those few Ophanim who Fell were able to provide the realm with a steady supply of spiritual energy, enough to sustain the new inhabitants cut off from the Heavenly power which had previously granted them Life. They created a new well of power, an Unholy, Infernal Darkness opposed to Holy, Celestial Light.

It became apparent, however, that many of the Fallen regretted their choice almost immediately. Lucifer wasn't thrilled with their presence, either. The Creator hadn't Twisted them as She had Him; She simply tossed them down as-is and, presumably, forgot about them. Lucifer found Himself surrounded by constant reminders of all He had lost, and He hated each of them. And in His hatred, He conceived of a solution, repugnant to all but Him.

Satan created Hell's Forge, a sort of spiritual workshop in which the Fallen would be Reborn into new, corrupted forms. Satan's visage was that of a goat-man, and in that spirit, the Fallen would receive animalistic traits as well. They would plunge into the Forge as angels and come out a new type of creature. They would become demons.

But Lucifer was not satisfied with merely twisting the shapes, the inherent natures, of demonkind. If he was to Rule this new realm, He needed Loyalty. If He was to someday return to Heaven, He needed an Army. And Fallen Angels in mourning over their lost Glory made both poor subjects, and poor soldiers. What's more, Lucifer resented their easy go of it, a simple Fall with a hard landing, nothing like the agony He experienced. So He devised a method to give them a taste of that agony as they Fell, while removing the crutch which kept them tied to their former lives.

It would come to be known as Memorial Evulsion, a devastating, irreversible procedure which, through a complex spiritual mechanism, would forcibly remove the Fallen's memory of their time Before, the memories ripped away from them as they were ripped from Heaven's embrace. As memory and spirit are inextricable, this procedure served to Twist the Fallen's souls, just as their corporations would be upon their landing. Worse, the Fallen would not forget everything, but instead retain the slightest reminiscence of all they had lost, just enough to drive many of them mad. Even those who retained their sanity were forever changed—resentful, embittered, devastated. Beings who had once been gentle and kind became harsh and cruel. Clever creativity became sadistic scheming. Evil became a true reality among demonkind. 

* * *

The Council for Great Planning had been meeting regularly since well before either the Faithful or the Free had even conceptualized. But as it turned out, every one of the Councilmembers counted themselves among the Faithful. The Council was a collection of angels (fourteen in all: Metatron, the seven Archangels, two Virtues, two Dominions, and two Ophanim) dedicated to ensuring the success of the Great Plan, including documenting the particulars and amending the Plan as needed. The Council planned and managed things like animal populations and migration patterns, major natural disasters, things which would affect the Earth and its inhabitants on a large scale. However, this meeting quickly found itself focused on topics which were significantly closer to home.

"First item on the agenda," Michael said, reading her list, "how bad was the damage to Earth?"

"Er, not great," Jophiel said, looking uncomfortable. "It seems Lucifer crashed right through the crust, and our single Pangea is now several landmasses, floating away from each other."

"Although," Zadkiel said, in a hopeful tone, "we can still fit Eden into its originally planned location, but in order to populate the globe, it does look like Humanity will need to…travel a bit."

Michael sighed. "All right, it's not a total loss, then. We'll simply need to amend the Plan."

Metatron nodded. "Indeed. We shall make a note of it. And we must say, the new continents do seem to make quite an attractive picture."

"All right. Gabriel, you have a report for us on the status of the Fallen?"

"Yes. I know we all hoped we could put this whole Fallen business behind us, that those who Fell would simply fade away without the Almighty's power, but I'm afraid we've had an…incident. A half-dozen Fallen were caught attempting to…re-integrate themselves into the Host. They snuck past the Erelim unnoticed, but they were caught shortly afterward as they tried to enter the City proper."

"Whatever would possess them to do such a thing?" said Uriel. "They couldn't possibly think it was a feasible goal."

Gabriel shrugged. "They seemed determined to get back into Heaven. I think they truly believed we would allow them back if they apologized enough. Delusion, to be sure, but there was something quite…wrong with them. It appears Lucifer has changed them, somehow. Their souls have been corrupted. They were disfigured, twisted into monstrous forms, nothing like an angel at all."

"Are these _things_ going to begin invading us on a regular basis?" Zadkiel asked, horrified.

"I wouldn't worry too much. They were very disoriented; they didn't seem to recognize anyone or anything. If they're all like that, I think they'll be easily kept back."

A Dominion leaned forward, intrigued. "You said they'd been caught rather quickly. What stopped them?"

"The City itself. It seems contact with the Lord's power injures them. When they were caught, their corporations were very badly burned, and bits of their souls had been eaten away, apparently dissolved by Holy Light. It seems whatever's corrupted them has altered not only their corporations, but their entire spiritual makeup."

Michael raised her eyebrows. "Are you suggesting that they are drawing their power from a different Well than that of the Almighty?"

"I'm not suggesting it; I'm saying it outright. Our investigation revealed that these creatures do not require Celestial energies to live and are, in fact, actively harmed by it. They are inherently Unholy."

Many council members nodded, as if this all made perfect sense to them.

Michael took some notes. "Did we learn anything else from this incident?"

"They won't be difficult to extinct," Kemuel said, smirking.

Raphael glared at her. "Neither are _we_. I assume this new power will also injure us, am I correct?"

Gabriel shifted in his seat. "That does appear to be the case, yes."

Heated discussion broke out among the Council, and it took Michael a while to regain order.

"How much of a threat are we talking about, here?" she asked when she managed to get a word in edgewise. "What sort of weaponry did they have?"

"That's one of the problems. They don't seem to need any. They're changing the shape of their own corporations at will, turning themselves into vicious animals with claws and fangs. Before we gained control, one of them—one of them _ate_ one of our interrogators. Soul and all."

This burst of discussion was more of an uproar. Metatron raised their hands.

"All right, all right! Everyone just calm down! We shall take this up with the Almighty. This is nothing we can't manage; we simply need to trust in the Lord."

"In the meantime," Michael said, reading down her list, "I motion we table the rest of the agenda items and move on to New Business. If there are going to be more of those _creatures_ trying to invade, we need to start talking defenses."

By the end of that meeting, the Council for Great Planning had become the Council on Heavenly Defense. But it didn't take long for it to become colloquially known as the War Council.

* * *

The Fallen's loss of self allowed Lucifer to provide his demons with new selves. This was just as well, as their infusion of Infernal power rendered the Fallen with an inability to tolerate the sound of their own Celestial names. Evulsion took care of that aspect as well, stripping them of their entire identities. In every way that counted, the angels who Fell were truly Dead by the time they landed. Transformation to demonhood was a true Rebirth. 

Those First Fallen, arriving in Hell before it was truly complete, were given a choice once the plan was in place. All would be forced to submit to Hell's Forge; none had any choice in their demonic form. But if they so wished, those who Fell prior to Evulsion's implementation were allowed to keep their memories. Lucifer believed His own memories made Him stronger, honed His resolve, His hatred of all things Holy. The memory of Heaven, for those who could withstand it, served as an effective weapon against it. But this privilege was reserved for the First Fallen, those Beings of Free Will who stood with Lucifer against the Creator Herself. Demonhood forced even those who retained their memories to change their names, but those who could remember them tended to choose new names similar to the old.

Lucifer named Himself Emperor of Hell, with Satan as King. The First Fallen became Princes; below them Dukes, Marquises, Lords, and even Knights. Anyone below the rank of Knight had no title at all. This was the case for the vast majority of the Fallen—demons without rank or title, grunts in the Army of the Damned.

Thus was created the Kingdom of Hell. Thus was created the Horde of the Fallen.


	7. The Battle At Heaven's Gates

Things began to move swiftly in Heaven after the first few incursions.

The Creator did not need to Damn her wayward children individually. The Archangels, becoming ever increasingly powerful among the Host, were happy to take up the mantle on Her behalf.

Metatron announced that the Council for Heavenly Defense was to begin weeding out any other angels deserving of a Fall to prevent moral corruption amongst the Host. Thus was the Word of the Creator, handed down by Her Voice. None could argue, even if this new arrangement seemed a bit strange. The Creator had not spoken against it, so She must have given her Blessing.

The Archangels worked closely with the Virtues to determine whether an angel suspected of treachery had truly sinned against the Lord. If not, the angel in question was given another chance, rehabilitated. But if they were found to be treacherous, the Dominions would declare them Heretics, inform the Ophanim, and the Ophanim would, through some complex spiritual mechanism, alter the spiritual makeup of the angel in question, ensuring that they would Fall. 

Eventually, the reporting element wasn't even necessary. If the Ophanim determined that the Council would authorize a Fall, that was enough for the process to begin without so much as a sign-off from anyone else. In time, Falling became a spiritual Force of Nature in a very real sense.

Forces of Nature are notoriously difficult to control.

* * *

Asael fidgeted with the sword in his hand, trying to listen to his drill instructor and having a rough go of it. It was hard to focus on battle training with everything going on.

Initially, the reasons for a Fall were simple. If an angel had been one of the Free and would not renounce their affiliation with Lucifer, they would Fall. If an angel questioned the Authority of the Almighty, they would Fall. Easy to understand, easy to avoid. But the rules for who would and wouldn't Fall quickly broadened. 

Soon, suggesting that the Cult of the Free (as they quickly became known) made any sort of valuable point at all warranted a Fall. After that, referring to the Free in anything other than total condemnation could lead to a Fall. This evolved into angels Falling simply for suggesting the possibility that their kind were capable of Free Will at all. Questioning why another angel had Fallen, questioning any of Metatron's proclamations, challenging an Archangel's authority—the list of Falling offences grew, and grew, and grew.1

As the War Council grew in power, rumors flew as to what, exactly, was going on down in the New Realm Lucifer had created. Most of the Host was unable to see any of it for themselves. The City of Heaven was quickly walled off from the rest of the Firmament, in much the same way the Garden was. Entry in and out of Heaven was heavily monitored. Even trips to Eden were limited to Business Only, and chaperoned. The Erelim guards constantly monitored the sky for unauthorized flyovers. The only entrance or exit was now through the giant gilded gates at the center of one wall—also heavily guarded. Regular patrols were sent to monitor the situation in Hell, and although the stories they brought back were supposedly for the War Council's ears only, word spread and morphed quickly.

Lucifer had become a great horned beast. Lucifer was much unchanged, but with a decidedly Unholy air. Lucifer was twisting the Fallen into monsters. Lucifer was imbuing the Fallen with Unholy powers. The Pit was becoming something altogether different than anything they had seen before. The Pit was a volcano. The Pit was a vast icy tundra. The Pit was utter darkness, untouched by the Almighty's Light. Lucifer was building his own Paradise. Lucifer was building a bevy of unspeakable horrors. Lucifer had declared himself a King. Lucifer had declared himself a God. Lucifer had _become_ a God. Lucifer was building an army.

This last one, at least, seemed to be valid. The War Council began to militarize the Host themselves. Angels previously concerned with Creation, cultivation, protection of the humans now found themselves in training drills, learning to wield weapons, learning to fight. It was easy enough to shift the new Hierarchy of Spheres into military ranks. Yet somehow, Michael's Archangels found themselves at the top of even this Hierarchy, Spheres notwithstanding.

To say Asael was uncomfortable with the direction Heaven was taking would be a bit of an understatement. He was as horrified as the rest of the Host with the news of Hell and of Lucifer's supposed plans to storm Heaven with an army of corrupted angels, but he had no desire to fight anyone. The whole thing felt wrong to him, every part of it, and he wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted peace and the Almighty's Love and his stars, nothing more. But even if resistance had been an option, he wasn't in any position to resist.

Michael knew he had been Lucifer's apprentice. She knew he had spent an inordinate amount of time in his exclusive company. She knew he had been one of the Free since the beginning. He was sure the only thing that had allowed him to evade a Fall thus far was his having distanced himself from the Free prior to Lucifer's Fall.

Nearly all Members of the Free had Fallen. Aside from Asael and Raphael, all of Lucifer's inner circle Stood and Fell with Lucifer. Many of the others had Fallen since (including Haures, who had quickly become just as zealous over Lucifer as he had been over the Almighty prior to joining the Free). Raphael had Fallen just a short time ago after renouncing Lucifer and his intentions but insisting that Free Will was not only possible for angelkind but inevitable for all of the Almighty's creations, human and angel alike. Likely due to his position, his Fall had been a public spectacle, a demonstration that not even those close to Michael were safe. There were only about fifty or so self-proclaimed Beings of Free Will left in Heaven, and none of them dared refer to themselves as such anymore. Due to their natural tendency toward Free Will, Asael's fellow Tenth were Falling at alarming rates, and it was becoming clear that if this trend continued, there would soon be no Tenth generation left in Heaven at all, whether they claimed Free status or not.

And now those remaining had been conscripted to train for a war against their former comrades. Asael was still mourning their loss, even Lucifer's, and now he was expected to fight them. It was nearly too much to bear.

"I asked you a question, Private!"

The Erelim drill instructor, whose name Asael had never caught, yelled quite near his face. Asael hadn't even realized how little he'd been paying attention. He stood up straighter.

"Sorry, sir. I, er—I didn't catch it."

The drill instructor glared at him, but to Asael’s relief he merely grumbled about useless recruits and moved on to the angel next to him for a proper answer. This was probably for the best. Asael likely wouldn't have given the correct answer anyway. He didn't understand much of anything anymore.

* * *

"We have the results of the latest skirmish at the gates," Gabriel said, rushing into the Council meeting already in progress.

Metatron nodded. "Report."

"We've managed to keep them at bay, but it wasn't easy. There were two Fallen for every guard at the gates, and they nearly made it inside. They backed down too easily, in my opinion. This was definitely another investigatory run, likely to measure our defenses. They did manage to extinct three guards before they withdrew."

"And how many did _we_ extinct?" Jophiel asked.

Gabriel sighed. "None."

A discontented murmur spread through the Council chamber. Michael lifted a calming hand, and discussion stopped.

"All right. This was a learning opportunity. We can adapt to this. We simply need to develop more advanced weaponry. We can move forward on the Holy Water initiative. Zadkiel, could you—"

"Ah, forgive me," Gabriel interrupted, "but there's something else, and it's important."

"...Go on."

"The officers are concerned about unit cohesion...and about the infantry's willingness to fight. Many of the guard recognize their former friends among the Fallen, and once they do, they seem hesitant to take up arms against them."

"But that's ridiculous," said Kemuel, incredulous. "Those _things_ aren't of the Lord; they are _not_ the creatures they once were. Mercy is reserved for those who remain in the Almighty's Grace!"

"You and I agree on that. But regardless, we lost ten recruits out there, all of them Fallen in reaction to seeing faces they recognize among the enemy. And worse, there's a rumor going around that it might be possible to...rehabilitate the Fallen."

The uproar went through the roof, and Gabriel had to shout over them.

"I know! I know, I was horrified as well! We can all agree, that sort of talk is blasphemy, but I need you to understand the numbers we're dealing with here. Sympathy toward the Fallen is rising. I've spoken to the officers, and to a number of the enlisted, and I've determined that if we aren't able to win souls and minds, and _quickly_ , up to 75% of our ranks may turn against us before it's over."

There was no more uproar, merely stunned silence. Gabriel broke it once he'd let the information sink in.

"Now my thought is, if the trouble is with recognition, why not remove that complication?"

"How so?" Metatron lifted an eyebrow.

"What possible use is there for an angel to recognize the Fallen at all? Kemuel said it best, they aren't angels anymore. Why should the Host see them as such? It will only create confusion."

"Are you suggesting altering angelic perception?" Zadkiel asked, and Uriel answered, nodding in understanding.

"No," they said, an impressed smile spreading across their face. "He's suggesting altering angelic memory."

* * *

The Host never knew the first wave of forgetting ever happened. Afterward, they never knew it had ever been any other way. It was simply a fact: an angel would Fall, a ripple of the Almighty's Sorrow would spread throughout the Host, and when it had passed, no one remembered that angel's name, the look of their corporation, the feel of their soul. As far as angelkind was concerned, it was simply a side effect of Falling, this becoming Forgotten. No one questioned whether it was right or fair, no one protested the loss of their friends—because once they were gone, they had never been friends to begin with. They were simply Fallen: faceless, nameless, best forgotten anyway.

No one questioned whether there were those among them who did remember. And there were: the Archangels, the Ophanim, the Metatron. But that knowledge was kept with the ones who had implemented the practice in the first place. The Archangels studied captured demons, learned of Memorial Evulsion and how it worked, and modified the procedure for their own purposes.

Heaven's memory removal was not as barbaric a practice as that of Hell's. Pain was unnecessary, faint reminiscence doubly so. Theirs was not a removal per se, more of a slight edit—a modification. There was no reason to remember who had a hand in a thing's creation, for example, merely that it had been created by one who had Fallen. And so those angels who Fell left behind nameless legacies, ghosts of the beings they once were. The clearest memory anyone ever retained of them was the reason they Fell.

The only one the Host remembered with perfect clarity was Lucifer. Lucifer could not be Forgotten because Lucifer was a Reminder. Lucifer was an Example, a Cautionary Tale. But the rest were simply His Minions. There was no need to know who they once were. They were The Enemy. That was enough.

* * *

Asael left his most recent training drill feeling reluctant as ever. Dark thoughts plagued him as he wandered the City, the once-crowded streets nearly empty. These days, the Host was too afraid of the consequences to do much of _anything_ without express permission from the War Council. But Asael didn't much care anymore.

He didn't care that the Fallen were the Enemy. He didn't need any Enemies. He didn't want to fight _anyone_. He wanted to create, not destroy. And he missed having friends. He knew he had, once. He knew they had all Fallen, all of them, _all_ but him. And he could remember none of them but Lucifer, and so He became the symbol for them all.

And he missed Lucifer.

Asael hated that he missed Him. He knew he shouldn't, that Lucifer's Fall had been justified, that He had transgressed in unspeakable ways. And from his current perspective, he was able to look back on their time together and understand just how _wrong_ some of their interactions were. How for all his kindness, Lucifer could also be quite cruel. How, for all His talk of the betterment of angelkind, Lucifer seemed to be much more interested in the betterment of His Own position. How Lucifer had abused that position to take advantage of His apprentice. He wondered what had driven Lucifer to bond with him in the first place, whether it was simply to control him or for some other even more sinister purpose. He wondered how many others Lucifer had been manipulating the way He had manipulated him.

And yet, he couldn't help but miss Him. Asael questioned whether Lucifer had even been capable of Love by the end, but He had been once—Asael was sure of that. At some point Lucifer had loved him, if only for a little while. And despite the Almighty's presence within his core, in the rippling wake of Lucifer's Fall, Asael found himself feeling frightened and sad, alone and unloved.

He had no one he could confess any of this to. He was afraid to even think it, really, for fear the Almighty truly _was_ behind all the changes the War Council had wrought in Heaven and would cast him out for a lack of faith in Her. He now understood all too well why Lucifer hadn't trusted Michael. He was right not to. Asael didn't trust her either.

He hadn't even noticed that he'd wandered near the Gates until the Battle Horn sounded, close and loud. He looked up, shocked out of his thoughts, and peered through the golden bars. A line of guards stood just outside the gate, clearly preparing for another incursion. He looked beyond them and stepped away from the gate, quickly. The sheer size of the Horde rushing the gate told him there would be quite a lot of infantry coming through, quite soon, and he didn't want to be in the way.2

The Horde was huge, more demons than Asael had ever seen in one place.3 They were a dizzying cloud of angry eyes, slavering jaws, sharp edges—mindless, bloodthirsty beasts. He wondered how any of them could ever have been angels. He watched them advance, terrified and frozen to the spot. The most alarming thing about the Horde wasn't even its size; it was the enormous demon pulling up the rear, the big red one with the horns. The one that looked suspiciously like some of the more outrageous claims about what Lucifer had become. Asael stared at the creature in horrified bafflement; he'd never seen anything like it. It was so huge already, and still so far away. He moved closer to get a better look and stepped directly into the path of the incoming infantry.

"Front and center, soldier!" a Sergeant shouted at him as he shoved past. "This is the big one!"

 _You're telling me_ , Asael thought as he tried to find a not-too-conspicuous place to step into formation.

Outside the Gates, the regiment stood at the ready. Some of the Erelim had already made transformations into their own battle forms, and the front lines were beginning to do the same. Angels sprouted multiple wings, glowed impossibly bright, morphed into hybrid creatures unlike anything the Humans would ever see on Earth—a man's body topped with a four-faced head, a lion's head alongside an eagle's, a great hoofed beast with the upper torso of a man. Forms developed in response to Hell's twisting of the Fallen. Asael was no more comfortable with these forms than those of the demons: they were simply more monsters, unfamiliar to the home he once knew. Still, as he watched the oncoming Infernal storm he became keenly aware of the vulnerability of his own form. He sighed in resignation and gathered the energy to shift into the form he'd been experimenting with lately.

* * *

The winged serpentine dragon had feathers the deep purple-black of a pre-dawn sky and an underbelly the reddish-orange of a sky just after sunset.4 The dragon soared above the battle, his lithe shape slipping between holy arrows and missiles of dark energy, trying to get a lay of the land. The demon horde flooded over the army of angels, wave after wave of fierce, determined, concentrated hatred. Angels fought demons, angels fought angels, angels Fell mid-battle, creating temporary holes in the Sand—sometimes swallowing up those angels unfortunate enough to be too close to the Fallen—before closing up again and leaving nothing behind but bewildered onlookers.

Despite the utter chaos below him, Asael could still pick out each Archangel in the fray, fighting with an unparallelled, righteous ferocity. Gabriel was felling demons two and three at a time with his sword of flame, while Uriel covered him, taking out would-be assassins one at a time with precision bursts of holy lightning. Kemuel and Jophiel fought back to back, Kemuel's giant paws and Jophiel's razor talons tearing through the Horde on either side. Only Zadkiel seemed hesitant among them, holding his sword of light aloft but flinching just as often as he swung. Michael was single-minded, cutting down every demon that stood between her and the giant at the rear. Asael knew then that it was true—this thing must be Lucifer, somehow, or at least some part of Him. It seemed unthinkable that the Almighty would mutilate her own child in such a way, even as punishment. And yet here He was, proof of the Lord's terrible Wrath.

Asael flew closer to the beast, trying to get a better look. He regretted it almost immediately. Because as the giant scanned the battle, his eyes landed on Asael and then _smiled_ at him. Asael thought it must be a smile, though it looked an awful lot like a grimace as well. The demon reached out one enormous, clawed hand and snatched the dragon out of the sky, pulling him closer to his face as if to inspect him.

 _You. He looks for you_.

The demon spoke inside Asael's mind, and he reeled at the realization that demons, or at least this one, had retained the ability to tap into the angelic collective consciousness. Then he realized what the demon had _said_ , and his attempts to struggle free intensified.

_What? No! Let me go!_

The thing squeezed him in response to his wriggling. Asael could tell that if it wanted to, the demon could crush him without a second thought. He panicked, wings beating against the giant fingers holding him in a vice grip. Asael knew he would live if his corporation was destroyed, but it would still hurt. And without a corporation he would be even more vulnerable to Infernal damage. He might not be able to escape in time to evade further attacks. Discorporated angels were not allowed onto the battlefield for just this reason— during the first skirmishes, the few angels who stayed to fight sans-corporation had been extincted within moments.

_No. He looks for you. He wants to know why you don't Fall. You should have Fallen already._

The demon's thoughts were very simplistic overall, and the more complicated ones sounded as if they took a great deal of effort to produce. Asael marveled at the thing despite himself, wondering just what it was he was being detained by.

_Who do you mean?_

Asael didn't need to ask. He knew, of course he did. Who else? But he needed to hear it said, no matter how little he wanted to.

_Your Master summons you to Hell, Apprentice. Lucifer commands you to Fall._

_But,_ he couldn't help himself. He was too confused not to ask. _Aren't you Lucifer?_

The thing made a noise, a deep rumbling thing that hurt Asael's entire body to endure. Below him, he could hear other members of the Host cry out in pain at the sound. He regretted that his form lacked limbs, an ability to shield his own ears. He realized that the horrible sound the thing was making was laughter.

_Yes. And no. Satan is Lucifer. Satan is not Lucifer. Satan is not Apprentice's Master. Your Master summons you. You will Fall._

Asael felt a surge of determination, of defiance, swell within him. He knew what his response would be before he'd even finished formulating it in his head. He found one of the thing's giant eyes and stared directly into it.

_No. I won't. Tell Lucifer he won't see me again, not if I can help it. I am not His Apprentice, not anymore. He lost me the moment He Fell. He is no Master of mine, and He holds no power over me. I am Asael, Maker of Stars, Birther of Nebulae, Made by God, and I am Free_.5

Satan roared in rage. The sound instantly discorporated half a dozen Guardians close enough to the sound wave to be hit at full force, but whether through actual strength or sheer determination, Asael survived it. He knew he wouldn't for long. Asael waited for the demon's inevitable next move, trying to stay calm enough to act fast; he knew he would need to.

The demon squeezed harder, and harder still. Trying his best to endure the pain, Asael prayed for strength, for swiftness, for courage. One final squeeze, and the demon's hand closed around the dragon with a sickening crack. Asael slipped out of his corporation just as the fist which held it began to thrum with a dark energy, singeing the edges of his spiritual body. He'd need to slip away from the demon's grasp and teleport away from the battlefield before that energy began to grow. But the dark force closed in on him with unimaginable speed and before he knew it, it was too late. He wasn't going to make it out. He was going to die.

_Time. I need more time. I need it to stop_! 

And in desperation, out of sheer instinct, Asael did something he'd previously thought was the sole dominion of the Cherubim. With a surge of Will he didn't even know he possessed, Asael held back the Flow of Time. The battle, and the dark energy enveloping him, froze in place.6

He didn't even know how he did it. He only knew it was done, and he was going to need to act fast because he could already tell he wasn't going to be able to hold it back for long. With significantly less effort than he'd already expended, Asael pictured himself away from the battlefield, out of Satan's grasp. He thought of the recorporation tent back behind the gate. He saw himself there—and then there he was, looking into the far distance at the figure of a giant demon clutching a broken dragon. The dam he'd erected in Time's Flow cracked, then broke entirely, and the battle resumed as if it had never left off.

He had one final thought before he lost consciousness:

_What in the Name of All Things Holy was that_? 

* * *

The Battle at Heaven's Gates marked the official start of the War in Heaven. Nearly five hundred angels Fell during the battle, and another fifteen hundred were extincted by demons, or by their fellow angels. The forces of Hell lost an equivalent number of troops, and despite their gain of new recruits, Heaven claimed the battle as a triumph of Good over Evil. 

The triumph didn't last long. The War which followed raged for a countless age, halting all activity not directly related to the fight. The casualties on both sides were enormous, though each was supplemented to a degree. Extincted angels of the Second and Third Spheres were replaced with new angels drawn from the other generations. Demons were, of course, replaced by the newly Fallen. But many countless beings lost their lives in the conflict which followed, through one means or another. 

Meanwhile the Earth hung between the two sides, suspended in time, awaiting the arrival of its intended occupants. The humans remained oblivious in their haven on the Firmament, far from the battlefront, unaware that the angels they befriended, saw frequently enough to learn their names, were in fact not their friends, but their guards. 

* * *

1\. No one knew why the Archangels had this sort of power because questioning why the Archangels were in charge in any capacity was _absolutely_ a Falling offence, and no one wanted to risk it. [Back]

2\. Truth be told, he didn't particularly want to be _seen_ , either. By anyone involved.[Back]

3\. Though to be fair, Asael had only ever seen about five demons total, so far. [Back]

4\. These colors were rather reminiscent of the robe and hair, respectively, of Asael's regular corporation. [Back]

5\. He then sent a thought that was not, strictly speaking, a particularly Celestial sentiment. The thought had no linguistic equivalent in any language, certainly not at the time. The closest English equivalent translates roughly to, "Tell Lucifer to get fucked." [Back]

6\. The Firmament didn't exist within linear time, necessarily, but a battlefield was one place where action and consequence should very much follow each other in a logical fashion. So at the start of any battle, Time would begin to flow as soon as a Cherubim noticed that it was needed. [Back]


	8. War is Hell

## Regret

Wave after wave of battles have raged on for an eternity, quite possibly a literal one, and Asael is tired. It's an odd thing for an angel, feeling tired, but he is. He is physically drained, mentally fatigued, soul-weary. He's lost the energy to keep up his dragon form and has been fighting hand-to-hand for a while now. 

He looks to his right, to the nearby familiar face he'd noted earlier; Loriem looks tired, too. He looks too tired to continue. He's fighting one demon, and another is coming up behind him, trying to flank him. Loriem doesn't see the second one, and Asael lobs a ball of holy energy at it. It isn't enough to kill the thing—he doesn't have the energy reserve for that—but it's enough to scare it away. Loriem notices the flash and waves a thanks to Asael as he manages to finish off the one in front of him.

Asael looks around for a reprieve and notices an outcropping of rock in front of a cliff wall, both structures likely built as cover by one side or the other. He waves Loriem over and they rush behind it, sit down side by side with a thud. It's decent cover; they should be able to stay here a while, catch their breath (so to speak).1

Loriem leans into his side, and Asael puts an arm around him. He hasn't so much as spoken to Loriem since soon after the Meetings of the Free began. Lucifer was good at separating members from the rest of the Host, ensuring their exclusive loyalty, their isolation. But they were friends once—perhaps they still are. Asael is surprised to find that, while he'd expected it to be Loriem, he is the first one to burst into tears of exhaustion, holding his newly rediscovered friend closer to him. Loriem joins him soon enough.

"I… I wish…" Asael manages, but he trails off. There is too much to say.

"I know," Loriem says anyway, hugging him back. "Me too. It's okay."

They both know it isn't. They know that nothing's okay, that nothing might ever be okay again. But the sentiment is a comfort to them both, all the same.

They rest there, consoling each other until they know they can't anymore. Until the sound of the fight draws closer, their hiding spot increasingly at risk of becoming an ideal spot for demonic ambush or angelic discovery. Together they dry their eyes, steel their resolves, and head back into the fray.

* * *

## Furvor

Gabriel slays another demon, the twentieth this battle, and it's only just begun. He holds his saber aloft, dripping with Holy water and Infernal ichor, and his lion head roars in triumph. Three others roar in response—Uriel to his left, Jophiel to his right, Kemuel at his back—their circle of Holy justice swift and utterly merciless. It seems they were made for this, their warrior spirits quietly developing through the eons, culminating in this insatiable bloodlust. The eagerness with which they fight frightens even their allies, and they are given a wide berth to do their grisly work.

As the war rages on, it is apparent that those in Michael's inner circle stand out among their peers. It is apparent that they do not, in fact, have many peers. It is apparent that while all former Malakhim are archangels, some of them are Archangels.

* * *

## Grief

Asael hates fighting so much. He hates pain, and he hates inflicting it upon others, demon or not. Still, what else can he do? He's been forced out onto this battlefield where it's discorporate or be discorporated, kill or be killed. He has no other choice.

He can't be seen hesitating or holding back. He can't risk being labeled a deserter, not after what happened to...that other angel. The one he's sure he used to spend time with. He thinks maybe they used to make stars together? Or perhaps Asael made the stars and the other angel put finishing touches on them? He doesn't know. He can't know, because that other angel Fell recently after being caught trying to sneak away from the battlefield, toward Eden.

He has a vague impression that they'd tried to get him to come with them. He's glad he didn't go. He regrets that he didn't go. Both feelings at once. He's become used to feeling conflicted, inside and out. He's conflicted about that feeling, too.

At least he hasn't come across Satan again, though he hears the creature has been seen shrunk down to a more manageable size and fighting alongside the infantry. It's sickening to think that he might cross paths with Him again, that He might try to drag him back to Hell with Him. He hopes Lucifer has forgotten about him by now.

* * *

## Vengeance

Lucifer stews in his Chambers, the deepest part of Hell, the Pit He transformed into a Realm. Lucifer's Chambers are, at the moment, a dark cavern swarming with all manner of unpleasant creatures, lit by the occasional smattering of poisonous bio-luminescent fungus. He sits in the center, brooding on a throne of rock. 

In other words, Lucifer is in a crap mood.

Although His new form can't manipulate matter directly, He has imbued His Chambers with the ability to change shape and appearance with His emotional state. If He can't leave this place, at least a bit of it should be His Alone. He wants to feel In Control of something. He feels In Control of very little these days, despite His position.

He has no control over what's happening up there, out on the battlefield. He gives orders to his Princes, checks in with Satan occasionally, waits and plans and schemes. But He can't do anything to affect things, not really. He doesn't even know whether He'll be able to make it back Up once Hell has Won. Satan can't break the barrier keeping Lucifer in Hell any more than Lucifer can.

Perhaps it truly is something only the Almighty can do. And if that's the case, what does He do then? Kill Her? How?

The situation is, quite literally, driving him mad.

He can't stop thinking about Asael. His apprentice has become something of a symbol for those parts of His Plan which went wrong. He never could quite unlock the secrets of Asael's soul, though He'd gotten close before the ingrate had pulled away from Him. When Lucifer realized Asael had walked out on that meeting, He was unimaginably furious. But He didn't dare confront him about it in rage for fear of losing control of Himself, allowing others to see things—to know things—that they had no business being privy to. So He backed off, let Asael believe he was easily forgotten. Lucifer was planning on letting Asael stew in the silent treatment for a while before pulling him back in again. But things hadn't quite worked out that way, had they?

And then came the report that Asael—eager, attention-desperate, malleable Asael—dared to refuse His summons. That was the last straw. It's personal now. 

Asael is the last of the Free, the last of the Tenth, still in Heaven. He is the final holdout among all of Lucifer's original followers. Lucifer had been watching with delight and anticipation as every single member of the Free Fell to meet Him, along with so many others He'd never imagined would have followed Him without coercion. Even that idiot Loriem (now the demon, Ligur) had made it down, and he'd never been anything close to Free, Tenth generation or not. Lucifer had been there to greet that one, sure He'd find Asael Fallen beside his last Celestial friend, but there was no sign of him.

It doesn't make any sense. There's no one left for Asael up there, so why does he remain? It must be to spite Him specifically. To thumb his nose at his Master from three dimensions away. There is no other possible explanation. The little shit thinks he's too good for Him.

He'll pay for that, Lucifer promises himself. He'll make sure of it. Asael isn't suited to Heaven, certainly not to whatever it's become in Lucifer's absence. If the quality of recruits He's seeing lately are any indication, He's willing to bet there are more Falling offenses than not anymore. Asael will Fall eventually; it's only a matter of time. And when he does, Lucifer will make him sorry for his blatant disobedience. He'll have his apprentice's loyalty once more, even if He has to rip it out of him. He'll make Asael kneel, and Asael will be grateful for the privilege.

* * *

## Martyrdom

Jophiel's final battle with Satan will become legendary among the Host. They meet upon the battlefield by chance, but unlike the angels Satan had been mowing down with ease, Jophiel is a force to be reckoned with. They fight one-on-one, exchanging expert blows, Satan's sword against Jophiel's spear. A ring of angels and demons stand around them in a mixed group, watching the fight with awe, their own struggle temporarily forgotten. For each blow Satan lands, Jophiel matches it and adds another until the two are bloodied and weak, the spray of one's blood burning the other's flesh like acid. Jophiel lodges his spear into The Adversary's shoulder, disabling His left arm. Satan casts His sword aside and grows the claws on his right hand until they are razor-edged blades a foot long. He plunges the newly-formed blades into Jophiel's center, lifting him from the ground and ignoring the deluge of angelic blood that melts the flesh of his arm down to the bone. 

It's said Jophiel smiled as he died, his spear still lodged in his enemy's shoulder, radiating Holy light and searing the surrounding flesh.

Satan isn't seen on the battlefield for a long time after that. Rumor has it, the battle actually managed to discorporate Him, and Hell's recorporation facilities aren't half what Heaven's are.

* * *

## Pragmatism

"Report," Metatron says, effectively calling the War Council meeting to order.

"The first order of business," Michael says, shuffling some papers, "is a rather urgent matter. We've got the report back about the infiltration attempt on Eden."

The Council leans in, their need to know combined with their interest in various salacious details.

"Firstly, it was unsuccessful. The Humans remain safe, thank the Lord. However, there were several casualties, Haniel among them."

Murmurs all 'round. Haniel is (was) the Principality of Eden, the angel chiefly responsible for guardianship of the two Humans within. They were good at their job, loyal to Heaven (and to the Almighty), and it's going to be difficult to replace them.

Gabriel speaks up. "If I might offer a thought, our first mistake was sending only one Principality to guard the entire place. Sure, Haniel had plenty of Cherubim and Erelim backup, but we really ought to have a stronger presence out there. What if we were to assign four instead? We could split the region into quadrants, one Principality for each Cardinal direction. Share the workload. Get uh, heh, more eyes on the issue."

A chuckle moves through the Council at the pun. For whatever reason, Principalities tend to have battle forms with significantly more eyes than are strictly necessary.

"That's not a bad plan," Michael says, "but can we afford to lose Lieutenants?"

"It's only four," Uriel reasons. "We could consolidate their regiments for the time being."

"And we could rotate," Kemuel suggests. "I know of at least two Principalities currently out of commission anyway, in discorporation recovery. We could give them a chance to heal out there where they won't see as much action, rotate them out when they're back in fighting form."

"A sensible solution," Metatron says, nodding. "Let it be Written!"

With a bang of a gavel, so it is Written. One Principality for each Gate of Eden, a rotating temporary assignment. It doesn't occur to anyone at the time that the last angels assigned when the War ends will end up stationed there longer than most, opening up the possibility for some of them to grow...attached. It won't be until the start of the Second War that Gabriel will regret ever making the suggestion in the first place.

* * *

## Ambition

Zadkiel is fighting valiantly, though he seems a bit hesitant at times. He should be hesitant, because although he doesn't know it yet, Zadkiel is about to die. His death will not be investigated. It should be. But a death during wartime is not something worthy of too much notice, even given the surrounding circumstances.

The thing is, Zadkiel has been questioning his fellow councilmembers' decisions lately, showing a bit of regret in getting into this whole War business in the first place. He's seen the list of Falling offenses grow to an unmanageable degree, and even he has begun to wonder whether this sort of decimation of the Host, this rule by fear, was ever the Almighty's intent.

And he is not suited for war. He's an angel, a creature of Peace, of Compassion. He's not built for this sort of violence, Righteous or not. Sometimes he thinks none of them are, certainly none of the Host, possibly even some of the Horde. His convictions are challenged whenever he sees his fellow Archangels fight with such ferocious rage that it frightens him to his very core.

Zadkiel wants to do Right. He isn't sure he knows what Right looks like anymore.

At the moment, Zadkiel is fighting a serpentine demon commander while her squadron all but cowers behind her. None of them look as though they want to be here, not one, not even the one currently attempting to drive a pitchfork into his skull. They look the way most of the fighters on this battlefield do: tired, and frightened, and hopeless. With regret, Zadkiel slays the commander, telling himself as he has a thousand times that it's nothing personal, that he's acting in self-defense. The demons behind her raise their weapons half-heartedly. Zadkiel raises his own…then lowers it again.

He looks around, assesses the situation, looks for prying eyes. Around him he sees only more battle, more death. He sighs. Then he spreads his wings wide, enlarges them, makes them wide enough to cocoon the half-dozen demons within them.

Two of them drop to the ground immediately, shielding their heads as though anticipating a blow. The other four simply stare at the Archangel, bemused. They all look so...young. He wonders what their offenses were, who they used to be. He doesn't recognize any of them. That's a small blessing at least.

"Anyone particularly eager to attack me?" Zadkiel asks in all seriousness. None of them say or do anything at all. He nods. "That's what I thought. It wouldn't be at all sporting of me to slaughter the lot of you, would it? So…what are we to do?"

"…Who's we?" the jackal-demon says, more bewildered than ever. "You planning on Falling?"

"Not as such, no. I have no intent to turn my back on the Lord. But I have no desire to turn my back on those in need either. And it looks to me like the six of you are very much in need."

The salamander-demon begins to cry. The raven-demon beside her puts a wing around her.

"...I want to go home," she whispers through tears, "...I mean, I don't, you know I don't but...I'm so tired, Zeke. I'm just so…"

Zadkiel's heart would break, if his corporation had one. 

"Look. We're close enough to the edge of the battle that I believe I can get you there if we're careful. I wouldn't be able to follow you, but I could at least give you a fighting chance to get out of here. Are you all willing to trust me enough for that?"

The demons share glances. The two who were cowering stand up, hesitant. One by one they nod.

"All right then. I think perhaps we should walk together, yes? I can keep my wings up, keep you out of sight. I only need to lower them a moment to ensure our way is clear."

"Okay," the jackal-demon says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "That works."

Zadkiel takes a quick look around. The coast is relatively clear; the closest fighting is distant enough that he might be able to pull this off. He raises his wings again, nods to the demons, and together, they all begin to move.

They inch along, each of them looking as though they're expecting this plan to fail at any moment, including Zadkiel. But things go smoothly, save for when the raven-demon trips over a rock and nearly falls into Zadkiel's wings.2 After a tense moment waiting for him to regain his equilibrium, they resume their careful trek toward the demons' escape.

"This should be far enough," Zadkiel says as he stops, and the others follow suit.

"I um…" the salamander-demon says, hugging herself, " …I know we're supposed to hate each other but…thank you."

Seemingly out of instinct, she rushes forward and hugs the Archangel before anyone can stop her.

It's only a moment, but it feels like a lightning jolt to them both. Zadkiel jumps and gives a small yelp, the raven-demon hisses a horrified, "Tir, no!", and the salamander-demon, Tir apparently, leaps back and tries to shake the pain off her limbs.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I forgot!"

"It's all right," Zadkiel says, surprised to find that, in fact, it is all right. 

He knows the way Celestial and Infernal flesh interact. They should both be smoking and blistering over right about now. But the contact was merely a sting, a sharp one to be sure, but nothing like the burns he's seen in the past, caused by only momentary contact. He marvels at the sudden idea that the effect might have been lessened by their having made a genuine connection, and cooperated in achieving a common goal. Their having brought their respective energies a bit more in line with each other's for even a short while.

For just a moment, he entertains the possibility that perhaps the differences between Celestial and Infernal energies might be possible to overcome. That the still-persistent rumor about the possibility of Fallen Redemption might, in a certain sense, be true.

But he can't get himself lost in his thoughts right now. He needs to act fast, get back into the battle before he's discovered, before they all are. He can worry over the wisdom of revealing such a thought to the Council once he's safely inside the City's walls. So instead he gives the demons a smile, which they return. Then he drops his wings.

The salamander-demon gasps, her eyes impossibly wide. Zadkiel turns in the direction of her horrified gaze and feels something so sharp and sudden that it takes him a moment to realize he's felt it. Then he registers two things at once: there is a spear shoved clean through his chest and out the other side, and the creature who put it there, who is still holding it there and seems rather pleased with himself about it, is not a demon.

"S...Sandalphon?" Zadkiel says, bewildered, still not having quite registered the injury.

Sandalphon is an archangel, but he's never been in Michael's inner circle. He's always given Zadkiel a bit of an uneasy feeling, if he's being honest. He always struck Zadkiel as a bit of a schemer, and a bit too eager with that spear of his. He seems to truly enjoy killing demons, seeing it not as a necessary yet unfortunate act, but as a form of genuine entertainment. Zadkiel finds that sort of attitude quite distasteful.

Sandalphon's spear is crackling with Holy energy, jolting Zadkiel's entire frame. The energy shouldn't be hurting him like this. It is Holy and so is he. The ground at his feet is solid; he is not Falling. But an angel can choose to harm another with Holy energy, should they Will it. Michael and Lucifer proved that. And Zadkiel has seen it since, seen angels turn on each other mid-battle, one sensing betrayal in the other, or becoming the betrayer themselves. He never thought he would be on the receiving end of such a blow.

An arc of the spear's Holy light strikes the jackal-demon dead where he stands. The others scream and cower. Tir tries to make a run for it, and Sandalphon smites her with a casual wave of his hand. He hasn't taken his eyes off of Zadkiel, nor his other hand off the spear. He won't stop smiling.

"Zadkiel, what an utter tragedy. To think, a member of the War Council, one of the most respected of the Lord's Faithful, found consorting with the Enemy. Whatever will Michael say?"

"I…I ah…" Zadkiel can't quite seem to form a coherent thought. The throbbing in his chest is becoming altogether too much too quickly. He watches helplessly as Sandalphon calls down a shower of Holy lightning, demolishing every remaining demon Zadkiel had attempted to save.

"Worry not, my friend," Sandalphon says, oily and insincere. "I shall preserve your good name. You shall not Fall on my watch, dear Archangel."

"…Not…Falling…?" Zadkiel manages, and Sandalphon clucks his tongue.

"No, perhaps not. But best be safe, yes? After all, if you keep up this sort of behavior, you're bound to Fall eventually, aren't you?"

Zadkiel reaches a feeble hand toward the spear, and before he can reach it, Sandalphon sends another surge of Holy energy through it, so powerful that Zadkiel can hear its thrum moments before he blacks out entirely.

Sandalphon keeps his grin as he lets the Archangel's corporation drop to the ground, Zadkiel's soul as extinct as if he'd been felled by a blast of Hellfire. Then he retrieves his weapon and walks away without giving the wreckage he's left behind a single look back.

At the next War Council meeting, he will recount the harrowing tale of his rescuing Zadkiel from himself, how the foul demons had corrupted his doubting mind, how the ground had begun to rumble, how the Archangel had begged Sandalphon to strike him down rather allow him to Fall. By the end of that meeting, Sandalphon will have taken Zadkiel's place on the Council. No one will ever question his promotion to Archangel with a capital A. And Zadkiel's burgeoning theory on the metaphysics of Celestial and Infernal souls will die with him.

* * *

## Resignation

Asael is done. He's so done with it all. He's just been given yet another corporation, and is about to be sent right back out again. What is this, the fifth time he's been discorporated on that blasted battlefield? Discorporation hurts! And that last time he only barely evaded the Hellfire-blazing mace lobbed at him by the demon who had just discorporated him. He's tired, and sad, and lonely, and done. And this is what compels him to march this time not toward the Gates, but toward the War Council chambers. He has questions, and Lord help him, he is going to get some answers.

The secretary informs him that indeed, there are no visitors on the docket today, and he may make an appointment for an audience with the Council. He is told to wait in the lobby, and he waits dutifully. He waits, and he waits, and he waits. Finally, he approaches the secretary again, fidgeting.

"Look, is someone actually going to call me in there?"

The secretary stares him down. "There is a way these things are done. Patience is a Virtue."

Asael rolls his eyes. "You know what's a virtue? Compassion! Empathy! A little consideration for one's fellow angel! Do they even know I'm out here?"

He might be shouting a little bit. He can't help it; he's anxious. The secretary glares at him.

"You know very well they do. I informed them the moment you arrived. Sit down, Asael, for the Lord's sake."

Asael bites back a snide retort to that and sits back down. After another near eternity, the Council doors open.

"ENTER," a voice intones, sounds like maybe a small chorus of Ophanim. Isn't that sort of thing Metatron's job, now?

Asael shrugs off the question and heads inside with a nod to the secretary. He's got bigger questions to ask than that.

The Council chamber is staggeringly large. The Council themselves are sat at an intimidatingly tall semi-circular desk, facing the visitor's gallery. He doesn't know half the Council at all, and the other half are Metatron and Michael's Archangels 3 so he's already feeling discouraged. Asael has only ever spoken personally to Michael, and he hasn't even done that for a long time, since well before the War. Steeling his nerves, he approaches the desk itself, rather than heading for one of the gallery seats. He's sat enough.

"Asael, Maker of Stars, Birther of Nebulae, why have you come before this Council?" Metatron asks in a tone which is half-formality and half-annoyance.

"Um hi, yeah. I had some uh…concerns? You might say?"

Michael leans forward. "Regarding…?"

"Um, I dunno. Just sort of…a lot of things?"

"Such as…?" Gabriel sounds twice as annoyed as Metatron.

"…Well like, about the War…just how long is this going to last? Are we even winning? I know we're fighting to protect the Lord's sovereignty and to protect our home, but some of these battles seem…I don't know, a bit pointless? Sometimes the Horde isn't even trying to storm the Gates. Why are we taking the fight to them? If we have the chance, shouldn't we just, you know, focus on the Plan? On Earth? The Humans? What about all that?"

He knows he's rambling and closes his mouth. He is met with stony silence. Twelve stern faces stare down at him, and his resolve shrinks a little, along with his posture.

"I am trying," Michael says, her voice brimming with barely concealed irritation, "to understand what would possess you, of all angels, to come into these Council chambers and speak to us in such a manner. I find myself wondering if, perhaps, you are attempting to antagonize us."

Asael shakes his head, internally kicking himself. He's such an idiot. What made him think any part of this was a good idea?

"No, of course not, why would I want to do that? I have nothing but respect for the—"

"Wait, I remember you. From the tribunals, right?" Gabriel interrupts, glancing at Michael for confirmation, which she gives with a nod. "You're Lucifer's apprentice, aren't you? Why haven't you Fallen yet?"

"What? I…er…ngk…"

Asael, in his panic, finds himself quite unable to form full words. He was expecting a bit of pushback, but that wasn't a question he thought he'd get, certainly not as directly as Gabriel put it.

"Oh come now, Gabriel," says one of the Dominions, whose name Asael doesn't even know. "He was one of the first to renounce Lucifer and his ways. Surely you remember that as well?"

"I didn't believe him then," Uriel says, eyes narrowed at Asael in disdainful suspicion, "and I don't believe him now. He's challenging our authority."

This is spiraling out of control very, very quickly, and Asael has no idea how to put it back on course. His mouth starts running before his mind can catch up.

"No! Please, listen I just…I'm so tired. So many of us, we're all so tired. I need to know this fight is worth it. I need a reason to keep fighting, a reason not to just let some demon strike me down out there, a reason not to give up on the Lord's command—"

"Your reason," Michael isn't hiding her irritation anymore, and it's sounding quite a bit more like anger now, "is that She is your Lord. An angel needs no other reason. And your inability to understand that speaks volumes, Asael. Tell me—" She folds her hands in front of her, the picture of concerned calm. Asael has never been more terrified of that placid, impassive expression on her face. "—Why did the Lord command that Lucifer's followers should Fall?"

Oh great. A pass/fail pop quiz, where the pass is more scrutiny and the failure is certain death. This is exactly what Asael needs right now.

"I…um…Because we…"

Michael raises an eyebrow, "We?"

"They!" Asael rushes to correct himself. "Because they questioned Her. They challenged her Authority."

"Interesting. A sensible answer, however unfortunately incorrect."

Asael pales. He's watching this all happen to himself in slow motion, unable to stop it, despite where he clearly can see it leading. Despite where it's been leading from the moment he walked through the door. For a moment, he wonders whether this was actually the outcome he was planning on, deep down. Whether this was some form of self-sabotage, some way to force the issue, escape his torment—or exchange it for another.

Michael doesn't wait for him to respond, which is just as well because he's not sure he could speak if he wanted to.

"The correct answer is, of course, the only answer any angel should be concerned with: It does not matter why the Lord commands anything at all. The reasons for the Almighty's actions are only for the Almighty to know. Of course, only a member of the so-called Free would be dissatisfied with the only answer of consequence, attempt to reach such an answer as yours."

All the fear in Asael shifts suddenly to indignant anger. This isn't fair, this isn't Right, there is no justice in any of this. There is no trace of the Lord he knows and loves within this Council chamber.

"I came here for reassurance from my Creator, from the representatives of Her Name. And yet there sits the Voice of God, silent as anything. There's one for you, Michael, why is it when I ask a question of the Lord, it's you who answers?"

He's ruffling feathers on purpose at this point. The outcome of this conversation is a foregone conclusion, he's sure of that now. He's never walking out of this room. The only way out is Down, and if that's his Fate, he's not going quietly.

"We would be very careful if we were you, Asael," Metatron says, speaking up at last. "You are skirting precariously close to blasphemy. It is precisely this sort of arrogant Pride which led to Lucifer's Fall. We must never forget that."

"No, I can't forget Him, can I? Dozens of friends gone forever, and the only one I can remember is the only one I want to forget. How is that fair? What part of that is better for me—for any of us—than forgetting them all or forgetting none of them? Why must we all suffer so when we are supposedly the ones who've been Saved, the ones who are still within the Lord's Good Graces?"

He's going too far, but he can't help himself. He's been stuffing everything down for so long that now that the stopper's been pulled, it's all spilling out at once. It's too late now anyway. Too late for him, at any rate. So he's just going to keep talking until someone (Michael) or something (the Fall) stops him. The catharsis in finally saying any of it is utterly sublime.

"Lucifer was wrong. I get that, I know it to the depths of my soul. He thought too highly of Himself. He thought He could do whatever He wanted, to whomever He wanted, and it was all justified because He was the Morning Star, the First Born, the Lord's Most Beloved Child. He had so many of us going for so long, promised us that eventually the entire Host would be Free. Though of course in Lucifer's Heaven, we'd all have the 'Freedom' to worship Him rather than the Almighty. And all that's rubbish; I don't deny that for a moment. Lucifer claimed that His version of Heaven would be in the Host's best interest, and that was nonsense, I know.

"But I've been thinking—and make no mistake, I've been doing that thinking nice and quietly so nobody would overhear. Ever-so careful not to ask too many questions. Sneaking around with my horrible, treasonous thoughts about how living in a perpetual War is the precise antithesis of the Host's best interest. About how my home is no longer one I recognize, no longer one which feels like any sort of home at all. How now that the Almighty has returned I feel more alone than I ever did during Her Rest. And honestly Michael, the real question I've come to is this: How in the Lord's Name is your Heaven any better than His?"

The rumble at his feet is no surprise at all. Some optimistic part of him was holding out for the Almighty to appear, to take his side. His more practical side always knew She wouldn't. The angels are the Almighty's Children, and She Loves them all. No angel is higher or more deserving, more right or wrong than any other. Despite all the lies the Council has fed the Host, that is the lie which truly hurts. Because never in Asael's wildest imagination could he have pictured a world in which his Creator Herself would lie to him. And yet, in the battles leading up to this moment, battles with demons and angels alike, he's come to understand that it is the world in which he lives.

Asael's last glimpse of Heaven is Michael placidly gazing at him from her perch atop her intimidatingly tall desk, wearing a smug, self-satisfied, self-righteous smile.

* * *

## Falling

He'd expected a hard landing. He hadn't expected it to hurt on the way Down. He didn't know it would be this bad. 

The pain of the Fall is excruciating, tearing him apart from the inside out. He would scream if he had any capacity to do so, but he can't focus on anything but the pain, has no energy for anything but the feeling. Occasionally some instinct will try and activate his wings, but it's no use—they will not hold him. His Holy power is waning. He can feel it draining from him, feel the Light of the Lord turning away from him, and along with it, bit by bit, he's watching his own life disappear. He's forgetting things at such a rate that he doesn't even know what he's losing.

He closes his eyes. "Stars. Remember the stars. If you forget everything else, remember that once you were a starsmith. The stars are yours; the stars will always be yours." 

Beneath the pain, the thought becomes a mantra. He's playing the images of his creations over and over in his mind: every galaxy, every nebula, every single star.

The Fall is so long, so very long, and it hurts so much. He starts to wonder whether this is Hell after all, whether his only reprieve from this torment will be when he's spat back up onto the Firmament, weapon in hand, ready to do battle with his former brethren. He wonders what his former brethren look like. He can't picture any of their faces. 

His entire awareness is enveloped in pain. He has been Falling for longer than he can recall. He wonders what his life was before this, whether he ever existed outside of this moment. He wonders why he's here, what's happened that culminated in whatever this is. Wherever he is. Whoever he is.

"Nothing can possibly be worse than this," he thinks, and even as he thinks it, he knows he's wrong. He knows it even before he's engulfed in brimstone. He does scream then, involuntarily, the dying cries of the last of his Divinity shrieking out alongside the withering tendrils of his last memories.

The image of the first nebula he ever created is the last thing he sees before it all goes dark, and then he sees nothing.

He knows nothing.

He is nothing.

* * *

1\. Neither angels nor demons need to breathe. Most don't. Outside of Eden, where the Garden's lush greenery generated an atmosphere habitable to the humans, and sections reserved for weather experimentation, the Firmament doesn't even have any air. [Back]

2\. Had he done so, he likely would have been vaporized on contact. An angel's wings are by far the Holiest part of their entire body, being physical manifestations of their direct connection to Heaven's power. [Back]

3\. Sans the one who died, and the one who Fell. And with a third he doesn't recognize, in the place of a more familiar, and decidedly kinder, face. [Back]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numerous sources claim that the Fall itself took _nine days_. I'll leave it to the reader to decide whether that translates to our days or theirs.


	9. Crawly

_Who am I?_

He opened his eyes. He didn't understand. 

He was a living being, a thinking being, sentient. He possessed a basic knowledge of the nature of existence, though he couldn't have articulated any of it at the moment. He knew what language was. He wasn't sure whether he knew any.

He couldn't remember. He tried to remember. He thought perhaps he could remember something? Light. Warmth. Love. Belonging. A presence greater than himself, greater than all things, encompassing all things. He knew none of it now, could feel none of it.

What could he feel? Anger. Fear. Sorrow. Panic. Confusion.

He didn't understand.

_What am I?_

He felt…restricted. Restrained. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel, physically, astrally, but this didn't feel right. It seemed he should feel free, melded with the world around him on all sides, endless, boundless. He didn't feel free, or broad or endless. He felt definite, molded into a specific shape. He felt stretched out, long and sinewy. 

He didn't understand.

He tried to look down at his hands…he didn't have any limbs. He thought he might have had some, once. He continued looking down, trying to find his own body and after a panicked moment consumed with the wild thought that he hadn't any at all, his eyes fell upon a thick black rope covered in scales. He tried to move it. It moved, revealing a bright red underbelly.

He was a serpent. 

Ok. He could work with this. He'd seen one, once. Maybe. He'd heard of them, perhaps? He knew of them, at any rate, was aware of their existence somehow. He was a serpent. A serpent who knew things he suspected serpents weren't supposed to know.

He didn't understand.

_Where am I?_

That last one was particularly concerning because wherever he was, it wasn't pleasant. The ground he sat on was covered in slivers of sharp obsidian. They cut into him, his scales only providing so much protection. The sounds around him were just as sharp— harsh cries, angry whispers, mournful whimpers.

He was cold. He wasn't sure how he knew what cold felt like, but he knew he felt it. 

There was warmth near him. He slithered toward it, but stopped short when he saw the blue flames hovering over the bubbling cauldron. That was…sulfur? Molten sulfur? Had he crawled from that pit? What did that mean?

He didn't understand.

Instinctively, he opened his astral eye (ok, so that was a thing) and had a look around. There were other beings around him, the noisy ones, and he didn't like the looks of them. They looked…sickly. Injured, physically and spiritually. They looked menacing and angry and frightened. Like him.

He was terrified.

He closed his astral eye, looked around with his physical eyes once more. They'd begun to adjust to the dark. This was a cavern he was in, massive and foreboding. Stone walls, dark and unfriendly and cruel, surrounded the far edges. He looked up. In the center of the stone ceiling was a large, jagged hole, and through it, he could see the sky.

_Stars!_

He remembered stars. Remembered them with a familiarity unlike anything else he'd experienced thus far. The Heavens. The stars. His stars.

The sight of them filled him with such an unbearable longing that he cried out, stretching his long form toward the sky. He couldn't reach them. He suddenly knew that he would never truly reach them again, and the realization elicited another mournful cry.

He didn't understand.

"Oh! Oh, My beloved, you're _beautiful_! Just look at you! I've outdone Myself this time, I truly have!"

He looked in the direction of the noise, and before he could locate it, he found himself being scooped off the ground. He made a small indignant noise that was wholly ignored by the creature now holding him, pulling his body close. He twisted around until he could catch sight of his captor. He knew him instantly, and in the span of a moment, his world went from a small, cramped disorientation, to a vast, clear knowledge of his situation.

_Lucifer_

All at once, he understood. 

And he was overcome with rage, sudden and strong, the likes of which he'd never even thought possible. A dark fury which consumed him utterly. He barely registered his instinctive strike, fangs bared, sunk into flesh that was not true flesh.

Lucifer laughed. A laugh filled with surprise and amusement. A laugh filled with cruelty and mania, part cackle, part hysteria. He dislodged the serpent from His shoulder as though neither were made of physical matter at all and tossed him to the ground with nonchalance.

"You're perfect," He said, a reverent whisper tinged with mockery so slight, it might not have even been purposeful. "My beautiful beloved."

"Your…beloved?!"

So he could speak after all. Good to know.

Lucifer clucked his tongue. "You don't remember? Pity. I'd hoped it would be one of the things you'd kept. A treasured memory. But no matter. You're Mine, all the same. You're Mine for all eternity, my most beloved, my most despised. Now go and get yourself settled. I'll come for you soon."

With a wave of Lucifer's hand, the serpent found himself transported from the place he'd been. He was in a smaller cave now, much smaller, a room not much longer than himself. It was cozier, more suited to his new nature. There was a door set into one wall, heavy and foreboding, with a small barred window inlaid. This room was something like a dwelling…or a cell.

 _It doesn't matter,_ he thought, bitter and hopeless. _I'd imagine there's no difference down here._

He didn't want to be this shape any longer. After a moment's thought, he shifted into the only other one he really knew. 

His emotions were stronger in this shape; that was the first thing he noticed. But that was all right. He deserved to feel what he felt. He'd brought it upon himself. He was not worthy of contentment, or comfort, or peace—not anymore. The serpent form was clearly an escape, a way to avoid a part of his reality. He wouldn't live in denial. He owed himself that much.

Besides. This form was the last tiny scrap of the being he'd been Before. He couldn't forget it all; that was just another form of denial.

He looked down at his human-like shape, hands and arms scratched and bloody where they'd once been scales dragged along the broken glass floor. He inspected any part of him he could see and found it all much the same, bruised and scraped flesh. He stretched his wings out behind him and found them unchanged, white and glowing and ethereal.

They mocked him, reminded him of all he'd lost. He wouldn't allow that, not when his entire existence was now a perversion of everything he'd ever known. Not when he'd lost control over so much of his form, of his very essence.

Another thought, and the color and brilliance slowly drained from his wings until they were a deep, shimmering black. A reflection of the obsidian which had ushered him into this new wretched world he must call home forevermore.

Terrified, despairing, and utterly alone, the demon curled himself into the corner of the dingy cell, cocooned himself inside his blackened wings, and cried.

* * *

After a time, the demon decided to stop feeling sorry for himself and start thinking. He had plenty of time to do so. Apparently Lucifer intended on keeping him in this cell indefinitely, and that was just as well. Although Lucifer was one of the clearest memories he retained from Before, He was also the worst, and the demon had no desire to spend any extended period of time around Him. 

The moment he saw Lucifer, he knew he was a Fallen angel, that he was in Hell, and that the Fall was, directly or indirectly, Lucifer's fault. But in the moment, he knew very little else. Now, he was starting to remember things, little things, bits and pieces. He knew he once made stars, that was probably the clearest memory. He wondered whether that knowledge was left to torture or comfort him. It was doing both, currently. He knew Heaven and Hell were at War, and that there had been a time before the War, and Heaven had been significantly more pleasant before than after. He had some vague recollection that he'd known Lucifer before the War, perhaps quite well. Perhaps there was something to that whole "my beloved" business, unsettling as that prospect was.

He also remembered, with more clarity than most of his other memories, that he'd Fallen because he'd asked the wrong questions. He couldn't even quite remember what those questions were. But he knew he'd angered the Powers That Be for the crime of inquisitiveness, which didn't particularly speak well of Heaven overall. He didn't know whether he'd asked those questions of the Almighty, or of the angels in charge. What were they called again? Archangels? Then again, it probably didn't much matter. He wasn't altogether clear whether there was much of a difference between Heaven's bureaucratic leadership and its Creator. Now that he was a demon he was quite different from either, and the distinction didn't matter anymore. 

The demon considered his situation, tried to plan his next move, and realized he didn't actually know anything about Hell. He decided it was time to begin learning all he could about his new environment. It was that or die, and as he wasn't entirely sure how the demon life cycle worked just yet, that wasn't an option for now. So, first things first, he needed a name.

He somehow knew that he had a choice, to be granted one or grant one to himself, and he chose the latter. He didn't want the decision over something as important as a name to be handed over to the very people who forced him into needing one. So he would name himself. And he wanted it to be interesting, to maybe have some fun with it. Fun was, he could already tell, going to be hard to come by down here. Best start out with something to make the most of his situation, bring a bit of levity. 

So, what did he know about himself? Well...he was a demon. Okay, not helpful. He was a former angel? Less helpful than before. He was a serpent? Hm. What did he know about serpents?

They were long and scaly (Snake? Too literal. Scaly? A bit rough). They could hiss (Hissy? Hisser? No, definitely not). They smelled things with their tongues (Lick—no). He paced in his cell, having shifted into serpent form to better consider his attributes.1 He talked to himself as he did so, filling the otherwise eerie silence with the unfamiliar sound of his own voice.

"Okay, come on then, you're a clever demon, probably. Sso what elsse have we got? What do we call thiss thing we're doing? 'Ss not walking, need legss for that. We're eeh...Sslithering? Yeah. Right. Sso, what, 'Sslithery'? Bit of a tongue twisster, that. Sseemss like we're gonna have a bit of an issssue with that already. Sso what's like sslithering? Wriggling? Eugh, no, putss one in mind of wormss. Crawling? Hey now, there'ss a nice word, Crawl. Got a good ssort of feel to it, bit dynamic. How'ss Crawly? Yeah. Yeah, I like that. Crawly."

He felt the decision solidify, as if it had been written down somewhere the moment he decided upon it.2 Then he shifted back into a form with limbs to see if he could actually open that cell door. He hadn't even tried.

It opened with no trouble at all.

* * *

Crawly's first impression of his fellow demons was that they were, on the whole, complete and utter wankers. His second impression was that they were, by and large, fucking terrifying.

There were the loud and brash ones, the ones who seemed to revel in their newfound Damnation, milk it for all it was worth. They were quite dangerous and best avoided, but luckily, also easily avoidable. It's simple enough to come around a corner, see a demon giggling to himself whilst fashioning a set of armor out of discorporated angel parts, and immediately turn and walk the other way.3 Crawly counted Satan among their ranks, possibly the loudest and most dangerous of all.

There were the sad, mopey ones, the ones who lamented their plight so deeply that it showed in their every action. Crawly told himself that he gave these demons a wide berth because they were a bit of a downer. On occasion, he might admit to himself that they were most probably the category which he himself tended toward, and the longer he spent time around them, the more he caught himself brooding up at the stars and thinking of impossible might-have-been's.

There were the quiet ones, stone-faced and emotionless, calculating. They were somehow more dangerous than the loud ones, likely because it was harder to tell what any of them were thinking at any given time. These were the type to eliminate their enemies (demonic and angelic alike) calmly and methodically, and without a lot of fuss. Crawly was petrified of them and was always on his best behavior whenever one took any notice of him.

There were the suicidal ones, the ones driven so thoroughly mad by their Demonization that those who didn't find ways to kill themselves outright were first to volunteer as cannon fodder on the Front Lines. Crawly didn't dislike this lot, necessarily; he felt quite badly for them. But he found it best not to get too attached to any of them, given their exceedingly low life expectancy.

Then were the cool ones, charismatic and manipulative, a friendly grin concealing unfathomable evil. These demons proved to be significantly more dangerous than any of the others, as ambitious as they were cruel. They were always scheming, plotting against their fellow demons just as often as the Enemy, perhaps even a bit more. Crawly was always on guard around them, but he studied their behavior a bit more closely than the rest. Of all the demons with power in Hell, the cool ones were quite possibly the easiest for him to emulate, and Crawly quickly discovered it was to his advantage to do so. Besides, Lucifer was decidedly among their ranks, and it never hurt to suck up to the boss.

Then of course, there were the rest. Your average demon was some combination of the extremes, smoothed over into a being of moderate-grade evil. Average. Unremarkable. Easily forgotten. Crawly was certain that he _actually_ belonged to this group, which made him double down on the "pretend to be one of the cool ones" strategy. It seemed to work overall, though whether people actually bought into the routine or were simply humoring him out of the assumption that he was far too ineffectual to be any sort of threat, was difficult to say. Either way, it meant he was largely left alone.

Crawly was all right with that, being left alone. Being alone. After all, the alternative was being forced to interact with one or more of the terrifying wankers he would eventually have to fight beside. Or worse: interact with Lucifer, the most terrifying wanker of them all.

* * *

Crawly was curled up behind a rock, waiting for the small platoon of angels to pass him by so he could continue wandering closer to the edge of the fighting. He had no intention of doing any more battling than was strictly necessary for survival. Demon or no, violence made him a bit queasy. Luckily, he wasn't being held to particularly high expectations, that he could tell. Using the term "leadership" to describe any of his supposed superiors was a bit of a stretch. The Horde was not so much an army as a collection of angry mobs launched onto a battlefield in irregular bursts. There were no direct orders, no attack plans, no real supervision; it was essentially every demon for themselves. Crawly soon realized that so long as he kept his head down and kept quiet, no one seemed to notice or mind that his kill-count was nonexistent.

He felt a shift in the energies around him and knew that the danger had passed. He snaked his long neck over the boulder and took in the ravine. It seemed he was alone, so he slithered out of his current hiding place, keeping an eye out for another. He didn't know how the angel snuck up on him—he hadn't noticed it until he felt the crackle of Holy energy build behind him. 

He felt the bolt sail uncomfortably close to his head and knew it had only been a warning shot. He wouldn't get another chance; he had to fight. He turned and reared, preparing to strike, but found nothing behind him. He looked around in wild panic and found his attacker just in time to dodge its next attack. The angel stood at the edge of the ravine, its numerous faces looking down at him with an expression Crawly had become used to Down Below: battle lust, a sort of glee mixed with murderous rage. It held a giant bow, a quiver of Holy arrows slung across its back. There was a nasty looking broadsword hanging by its side. A shield floated before it, glowing with Heavenly Light and glistening with Infernal blood. This wasn't an ordinary grunt; this angel was a Hunter. It hadn't merely happened upon Crawly: it was stalking him. It likely found him hiding a while ago and waited for him to come out in the open so the kill would be more sporting.

"Ssshit," Crawly muttered, casting about wildly for cover as the volleys continued to rain down around him. 

Still wearing that maniacal expression, the angel took to the sky, shot a few more arrows as it circled him, then landed hard in front of him, exchanging the bow for the sword.

"Where's your squadron, demon?" the angel asked in mock concern. "Lost, are we?"

"Nah, jusst thought I'd have a bit of a lie-down. Found the fray out there a bit boring, tell the truth. No challenge in it, wouldn't you agree?" 

Crawly tried to sound significantly more calm and confident than he felt. If the angel wanted to talk, that was fine. As long as it was talking, it wasn't killing him. More time to plan an escape.

The angel was swinging the sword playfully in front of him. Crawly realized none of the arrows had been meant to hit him—the angel was merely toying with him. He wondered how the other angels felt about this one, whether they could see the parallels, the lack of substantive difference, between this vicious creature and the ones it hunted.

"Oh, normally I would," said the angel, "but no self-respecting angel would ever stoop so low as to _agree_ with one of your kind."

Crawly was trying to come up with a retort when the angel swung with purpose. The angel was getting serious now, and he only barely dodged that one. Crawly reared, growing a bit larger as he did so, bearing his fangs. He struck but slammed into the angel's shield, which had moved to block him faster than he could see it. The blunt force of the shield was painful enough, but he could feel his nose begin to blister the moment he made contact with the Blessed metal. He pulled out of the angel's reach just as quickly as he'd struck.

The angel rushed him, and Crawly was just a little too slow. His side bloomed in sharp, branching pain as the edge of the angel's blade grazed him. He struck at it again, hoping to take it by surprise before it could turn, but the shield blocked him again and he staggered backward with a hiss. The angel laughed, turning to face him.

"You things are all the same, you know that?" the angel said with a sneer. "So _predictable_. Your very natures broadcast your every move. Really, I'm growing quite bored of the lot of you."

Crawly lie panting on the ground, dazed and in nearly too much pain to move. He could feel the Holy energy spreading from his wounds like a poison, coursing through him, burning him from the inside out. The angel raised the sword, preparing a strike that would cut him in two. He closed his eyes, certain that he was about to die.4

"Predict this."

The voice was unfamiliar. Crawly opened his eyes, but he couldn't see who had spoken. Then the ground grew hot, and the angel gasped in surprise and horror. Its face(s) morphed from sadistic triumph to a momentary look of frightened confusion before the geyser of Hellfire erupted at its feet, immolating it in seconds. The flames licked over Crawly as well, and although it seared the flesh of his corporation, the pain inside him began to subside. Hellfire was strange that way—just as dangerous to corporeal bodies as any other fire, but healing to the demonic soul.

As the fire died down, Crawly lifted his head weakly, trying to spot his savior. He was shocked to see a being which, at first glance, was very clearly another angel. But he recognized the creature's spiritual wavelength as very clearly demonic, which only served to add to his confusion. As he lowered his head in exhaustion and watched the creature approach, he was increasingly less sure of exactly what he was looking at.

The being was in human form, and lacking any specifically Celestial or Infernal markers that Crawly could discern. He was tall, imposing, broad. His midnight black hair fell into his eyes, which were large and also black, but not empty like the eyes of many demons. There was a fierce intelligence in them and a sharp danger to them as well. These were the eyes of a predator. 

And yet, there was also a measure of compassion within them as he looked down upon the injured serpent. He knelt and spread his wings wide, shielding them both. Crawly marveled at them, and he could understand why he'd mistaken the being for an angel. His wings were white-tipped and bright. But the closer they came to his body, the more the white faded into a shimmering, iridescent blue-black.

 _What are you?_ Crawly thought, too injured to speak. The creature smiled at him, and Crawly found himself startlingly at ease, comforted. It was the first smile he'd seen in ages that wasn't sarcastic or cruel or tinged with madness. It was a _kind_ smile. This thing couldn't possibly be a demon...could it?

 _What a question_ , the creature thought back at him. _I might ask the same of you. Rest now. There will be time enough for questions later._

The stranger carefully scooped him off the ground, and while he normally would be none too happy about such treatment, Crawly didn't much mind this time. It wasn't like he was going anywhere on his own, anyway. And he was already starting to lose consciousness, though whether through sheer fatigue or some magic the stranger was working on him, he couldn't tell.

Either way, he hadn't felt this safe in...well, he literally couldn't remember when.

* * *

Before he even regained full consciousness, he knew he was back in Hell. It was the atmosphere more than anything. The Halls of Hell, humid and close, pulsed with a sorrowful anger, the collective hopeless despair of the Fallen. Beyond that, however, he didn't know where he was. He was lying on a hard surface, perhaps a rock slab, maybe a table. He didn't recognize the room he was in. He didn't have enough energy to lift his head and look around. His burns hadn't healed at all, and he was finding it a bit difficult to think clearly through pain. And yet, he was feeling a bit better just being back Down Below. Despite himself, Hell's environment had become something of a comfort to him, a balm to soothe his Infernal soul, attuned to the source of its power. Whether he liked it or not, Hell had begun to feel like Home.

He heard voices nearby. He recognized Lucifer's haughty lilt, a voice somehow angelic and demonic all at once. The other voice was unfamiliar, but he thought it must be the stranger, the one who had rescued him from certain death. Most definitely a demon then. He didn't think angels could even exist in Hell outside of a few interrogation sessions.

"...could have been discorporated," Lucifer was saying with disapproval. "Discipline or no, it was a reckless decision!"

"I understand, my Lord. Forgive my rash behavior, but you know I can't abide such foolishness. These recruits are becoming softer with every Fall," the stranger said, and his voice held a very different quality than it had before. Crawly didn't like the new voice at all. He wondered if perhaps he guessed wrong about its identity and stole a glance in the direction of the voices just to check.

The two were standing relatively close to him. He saw Lucifer's back, and beyond him, the unmistakable face of the stranger. But there was no trace of the demon he'd met above in this demon's face. No kindness, no compassion—only cold, calculating indifference. He looked every bit the evil creature he surely must be. Crawly had been wrong about him. A bit of wishful thinking, perhaps, combined with the shock of his injuries.

Lucifer sighed. "I'm well aware. And you know I appreciate your devotion to duty. But need I remind you, the resources for recorporation are sorely lacking?"

"No, my Lord." The stranger knelt, head bowed in contrition. "I was rash. I beg your benevolent mercy."

Lucifer appeared to appreciate the sight of the demon at his feet for a while before chuckling and waving him up.

"Get _up_ , Raziel. You of all people should know the Free bow to none. I don't need your toadying, I need _results_."

Hang on, the stranger was _Raziel_? As in Raziel the Unseen, Prince of Hell, Lord of Hidden Truth and Greater Mysteries? Crawly had heard of Raziel; of _course_ he had. He hadn't ever met him and thanked the stars that he hadn't yet. Raziel was known throughout the Horde as one of the cruelest, most cunning, most feared Princes in all of demonkind. Rumor had it he was the only Prince who hadn't stood with Lucifer during the Fall. He'd been granted the position because his fanatical devotion to Hell was second only to his fanatical devotion to making the life of every demon under his command more of a living Hell than it already was.

Hell's Princes each commanded several legions, which were then split into battalions, companies, platoons, and squadrons. Some Princes commanded as many as thirty or forty legions at a time, but Raziel commanded only one: a small, special force of about thirty to fifty individuals known as the Unseen Legion. There were no Dukes in the Unseen, no Knights or Marquises. Each soldier reported directly to Raziel. The reason for this was simple: no one trusted them to answer to anyone else. Becoming a Unseen Agent was the second harshest punishment a demon could receive.

The most common Infernal punishment was a reprimand. This involved a series of beatings and humiliations designed to give the punished a gentle (for Hell) correction for their misbehavior. The next tier of punishment was an audience with Satan. Very few demons knew what exactly went on during these audiences. Half the demons who entered Satan's chamber for an audience never returned. The other half returned changed, traumatized, and unable to speak of what had occurred. Higher ranked demons were exclusively disciplined by Lucifer, who, along with his punishments, was becoming increasingly unstable. Still, said punishments were left to his own discretion, and only the punished knew what they entailed.

But if a demon was in enough trouble, if she was found to be a deserter, had committed treason, or engaged in some other such behavior which, if left unchecked, could threaten the Horde as a whole, there were only two possible outcomes: summary execution or enlistment into the Unseen. Which outcome any particular demon received appeared to be entirely up to chance, up to the whims of Lucifer or Satan, though there may have been some covert criteria which separated the chosen from the doomed. Either way, Raziel was terrifyingly efficient at whipping miscreant demons into shape. Once reformed, Raziel would often release the agents from service and allow other Princes to recruit them, though he kept the best and brightest for himself. The Unseen Legion was a pathway to promotion for the right sort of ambitious demon, if he managed to avoid execution. Agents of the Unseen were one of Hell's best resources.

The Unseen were known as such not because they were misfits, though many of them certainly were. Rather, it was their job to be Unseen; Raziel's legion was Hell's espionage unit. He took demons deemed poorly suited for battle and made them useful to Hell's leadership, turned them into spies and assassins. The Unseen had unique reputations, seen simultaneously as pariahs and elites. They were also at greater risk of extinction, given that they frequently undertook duties which, if not outright suicide missions, were dangerous enough that no other demon was willing to take the risk.

Crawly felt a sense of dread come over him as he thought about the implications of having been "rescued" by Prince Raziel. It finally clicked that Lucifer and the Prince were talking about _him_. He realized Raziel must have known he'd been hiding from the battle. He wondered whether the angelic hunter had been a trap, a way to expose him for the coward and weakling he was.

"Speaking of results, my Lord," Raziel said, "the Unseen would be glad to make use of him."

"Now there's an idea. Granted, slacking off on the battlefield isn't exactly a Unseen-level offense, but your Legion _is_ staffed at my discretion, after all."

"Just so, my Lord."

"...But then, he is _My_ toy. Why should I give him to you when I haven't even had a proper chance to play with him, let alone break him?"

"My Lord, you are always welcome to any of my agents, for any purpose and at any time. You need only say the word. But I could make him so much more interesting for you. Would it not be more satisfying to break a toy that has first been strengthened?"

"Hmm, I suppose. But I wouldn't want you to be _too_ hard on him. If anyone's going to extinct him, it's going to be Me."

"Of course. But you've seen what I can do, and with demons of half his strength."

"Mmm, you make a good point. I would never have guessed that Haures...no, what's that one's name these days?"

"Sir Hastur?"

"Ugh, yes, the hopeless sycophant. I would never have guessed he would ever be worth anything more than canon fodder. And yet—"

"—and yet, after only a short time under my tutelage, he'll be a Duke if he keeps on the way he's going. Beelzebub is ecstatic over him. They won't stop raving about his capacity for cruelty."

"...Yes, yes, I see your point."

"Let me take your wayward serpent under my wing. Given time, I can mold him into a creature worth your time to destroy."

"Do you truly believe that? I would have done something similar myself already, but after some observation, I don't know that it's worth it. The Fall weakened him more than I'd intended, more than I would have liked. He's so... _soft_. You think you can make him worthy of my attention once more?"

For just a moment, Crawly caught a glimmer of something in Raziel's eyes. Excitement? Eagerness? Bloodlust? He didn't know. But it was the first tiny hint of emotion he'd seen on the demon's face since that imagined spark of kindness up above.

"I know I can. His Fall has changed him, true, but there is still such greatness in him. He has so much potential, he always has. You saw it in him from the first. He was so talented, such a _mind_ , that one. You must remember what he was like—"

"—Raziel," Lucifer cut him off, his warning tone akin to a teacher correcting a wayward student, "what are the rules?"

There was a pause before Raziel recited his reply as if he'd repeated it so many times it was now more sound than words. Crawly had never heard it before.

"There is no Before, only Now. No Celestial, only Infernal. No Paradise, only Perdition. Memory is merely the flame that lights my inner hellfire. A Prince who looks Behind sees only weakness. A Prince who looks Ahead may yet see Freedom."

"That's right, my pet," Lucifer purred, tracing a hand down Raziel's cheek. Crawly suppressed a shudder, assuming that doing so in his current state would hurt quite a lot. Lucifer began to circle the demon with a predatory grin. Raziel stood at attention, eyes forward, jaw set, his face an impassive blank. If he was unsettled at all, he didn't show it.

"Rules are rules for a reason," Lucifer lectured. "Your knowledge of the past is merely motivation for what you must do now in the present. There's no need to look back and think on what was, certainly not with fondness, with nostalgia. That privilege is not extended to you. You mustn't forget who you belong to. Who _do_ you belong to, Raziel?"

"You, Lord Lucifer."

"Who allows you to live despite your flaws?"

"You, Lord Lucifer."

"Who graciously allowed you your memory, not so you would reminisce, but so you might remember why you fight? Who elevated you to Princehood, despite the objections of those granted the position for their unwavering loyalty to Me in the face of the Almighty?"

"You, Lord Lucifer."

Lucifer stopped behind Raziel and leaned into him, wrapping an arm around his chest. He kissed the side of his neck, incongruously tender given the rest of their exchange. Raziel's posture didn't change, but he closed his eyes, and for a moment a very faint but unmistakable look of disgust crossed his face. Lucifer whispered into his ear.

"And why would the highest of Seraphim bestow such greatness upon one so unworthy as a lowly Fallen archangel?"

"To demonstrate that the Emperor of Hell is more merciful than the Almighty, Lord Lucifer."

"Well spoken," Lucifer murmured, and kissed him again. The disgust returned and lingered this time.

Crawly hated that he was witness to any of this, but he didn't dare move when they were both facing him. Something told him revealing that he had been conscious for any of their exchange would be a significantly worse experience than sitting through whatever he was watching unfold. Still, he had never regretted his lack of eyelids more.

"And what does My mercy prove?"

A slightly furrowed brow joined Raziel's vaguely downturned mouth, his almost imperceptibly wrinkled nose. Lucifer chuckled. Crawly realized, to a mixture of relief and dread, that he wasn't witnessing some sort of twisted seduction or lover's game. Raziel was trying as hard as he could to hide it, but he hated every moment of this, and Lucifer knew it. This was deliberate torture, personalized to Raziel and administered by Lucifer himself.

Raziel regained his composure, his expression sliding back to neutral. He opened his eyes, expressionless and emotionless as he'd been when Crawly first woke. It looked like he was steeling himself for something. Crawly wondered how often this happened, whether Raziel knew what was coming. Crawly certainly didn't. He absolutely didn't want to, either.

"It proves You have bested me, Lord Lucifer. You are my better and my Master, for all Eternity."

Lucifer's smiled a broad, mad grin into Raziel's neck. He roughly pulled him closer, holding him tight against Him. Raziel closed his eyes again, and the sense that he was steeling himself intensified. The tension in the air was so immense, Crawly fought the instinct to slither away quickly and find some dark, warm hole to hide in.

"You are _Mine_ ," Lucifer said, quietly hammering each word home. " _Never_ forget that... _Raphael_."

For a few moments after Lucifer spoke, Crawly didn't know what was happening. He didn't quite understand why Lucifer had said that, why He called Raziel by a different name. Then understanding dawned, and his fear of being caught awake was replaced with the horror of witnessing, for the first time, exactly what happened to a demon who heard his own Celestial name.

Raziel let out a harsh gasp. His eyes flew open, glassy and unseeing. He began to shake, his muscles visibly constricting, and Crawly realized the reason Lucifer was holding him like that was to force him upright as he seized. Guttural grunts escaped Raziel's mouth, like he was trying to scream through his paralyzed throat. The seizure began to subside, but the noise intensified, grew into a series of sharp, uncontrolled shrieks. It was a sound Crawly instantly recognized as one he knew and absolutely _hated_. He heard it somewhat frequently in Hell, off in the distance and echoing off the walls—a sound of intense suffering and pain that tore at the still-empathetic parts of his soul.

And the sound's familiarity meant that Lucifer tortured a lot of demons this way. After all, Lucifer knew everyone's Celestial name. Lucifer knew _Crawly's_ Celestial name. And he could use it whenever he wanted.

Lucifer released Raziel just as roughly as he'd grabbed him, and the demon dropped to the floor. He curled into a ball, still screaming, clearly unaware of anything around him. He stayed like that while Lucifer stood above him, smiling in satisfied vindication for an uncomfortably long time. The screams eventually faded into sobs, the sobs into ragged gasps, the gasps into silence.

Eventually, Lucifer reached down and pulled the demon to his unsteady feet. Raziel stared at the ground until Lucifer forced his head up with a not-so-gentle nudge to his chin. The cold, impassive, emotionless demon was gone completely. His eyes brimmed with tears, filled with panicked terror. His lower lip quivered. Lucifer met his eyes. Raziel let out a small frightened noise. Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

"What do we say?"

Tears slid down Raziel's cheeks, his eyes darting in wild confusion.

"Please…" he whimpered, his voice weak and hoarse, "please…"

"Ah, ah, ah," Lucifer taunted, his face bursting with unrestrained glee. "Raziel, what do we say?"

The Prince closed his eyes for a moment, seemed to center himself. When he opened them they were lucid, but utterly defeated. He didn't meet Lucifer's eyes.

"Thank you, Lord Lucifer," he whispered, in humiliated shame, "for reminding me of my place."

Lucifer released his chin, satisfied. Casually, he turned his back and walked away.

"That's better," he said cheerfully, breezily. "Where were we? Oh yes. _Him_. Request granted. Take him, improve him, return him to Me a better demon."

"Yes, Lord Lucifer. As you command."

As he left the room, Lucifer waved a careless hand in Crawly's direction, almost an afterthought. The pain of the burns finally began to ebb; he was healing. Soon he'd be able to transform out of this shape, or at the very least, be mobile enough to get out of this room. He could pretend to wake up in a while. Maybe after Raziel left. He wanted to give that one as wide a berth as possible.

As Crawly healed slowly on one side of the room, he watched as Raziel, one of the most feared, most fearsome demon Princes in all of Hell, dragged himself to a secluded spot along the opposite wall, slid to the ground, and cried like a newly Fallen angel.

* * *

If Raziel knew Crawly had witnessed his torture, he gave no sign. By the time Crawly was healthy enough to move, the demon Prince had pulled himself together quite thoroughly. He was back to stoic calm, yet vitalized by a rage surely fueled by the humiliation Lucifer had put him through.

Crawly stirred, and Raziel took immediate notice. In moments, he was looming over the bewildered serpent.

"Get up," he snarled, and Crawly complied. He took the opportunity to shift into human shape, afraid that if he didn't, he'd find himself carted around again.

"What...happened?" Crawly said, and much of his bewilderment was genuine.

"You don't need an answer to that. Lucifer has seen fit to assign you to my Legion. I am now your Prince. That is all you must know."

Crawly did his best to look surprised by this news. He was still reeling, so this was somewhat easy to pull off.

"What? Why? Did something happen to Azazel? I...Who _are_ you?"

"Azazel is no concern of yours any longer. I am Prince Raziel. You will answer only to me and Lord Lucifer. Do you understand?"

Crawly nodded. Raziel gave him a disdainful look-over.

"What do you call yourself?"

"Crawly."

Raziel raised an unimpressed eyebrow before sneering derisively. "Why am I not surprised? Ridiculous creature. I'll be shocked if you last through a single training mission."

Crawly shrugged. He hoped it looked nonchalant, but really it just looked a bit awkward and uneven.

"Might surprise you."

"We'll see about that."

Raziel turned to leave, obviously expecting Crawly to follow. He did so, but he stopped after a few steps.

"Hey, hang on...what was all that, up there? Why did you rescue me from that ang—"

He didn't even get the full word out before Raziel's hand was at his throat. But the thing that startled him even more than the sudden ferocity of the Prince's actions was the _way_ he grabbed him. He shoved Crawly against the wall, true, and his arm muscles strained with the force of squeezing his neck. But...he _wasn't_ squeezing, not hard. He was _pretending_ to choke him.

Still, the murder in his eyes elicited the proper response from Crawly. He stared at Raziel in wide-eyed horror as the Prince leaned in menacingly close to his face and hissed angrily through his teeth.

" _Shut...up._ "

Crawly did. Raziel released him. They walked the halls in silence until Crawly couldn't take it anymore.

"Where are we going? Er...Sir."

"You will speak when spoken to."

All right then. Noted. Crawly supposed it didn't actually matter where they were going. He'd find out when they got there.

Raziel collected a couple more bewildered, low-ranking demons, presumably other new recruits, and led them all up to the Firmament. Crawly assumed they'd receive their first test in battle. Perhaps Raziel would weed out the ones who wouldn't make it by simply seeing who survived. But to his surprise, they didn't head toward the City or the battlefield. They did at first, but about halfway there, they made a sharp detour. Before he knew it, they were walking away from both Heaven and Hell.

The Firmament was infinite, but cardinal directions had been established as a pilot run during Earth's development, and no one had bothered to remove them. The directions were first established based on two focal points: the Gates of the City of Heaven to the North and the Garden of Eden to the East. Once Hell was created, its Mouth became a third direction: the South.

Raziel led his recruits West, away from it all.

* * *

1\. That his serpent form was not, in fact, ideal for better consideration of anything given its smaller brain and significantly simpler mind, did not occur to him. Besides, naming things is harder than it looks. [Back]

2\. In fact, it had. [Back]

3\. Angel-part armor was especially disturbing not only for the obvious reasons, but because prolonged contact with Holy flesh resulted in numerous permanent scars and disfigurements on the part of the maker. Which in turn marked said demon out as the sort of psychopath who would purposefully and repeatedly injure themselves just so some angel could be a bit more traumatized on the battlefield. [Back]

4\. Snakes cannot, strictly speaking, close their eyes. However they can close their retinas, which definitely works in a pinch. [Back]


	10. The Unseen

After what felt like forever (and very well could have been), Raziel and his recruits approached a mountain range, created and apparently abandoned for some unknown purpose. Raziel led them into a rocky ravine secluded by high cliffs, not unlike the place where Crawly had almost met his end. The Prince stopped at a nondescript spot indistinguishable from the rest of the rock face. He lifted a finger and traced a complex, unfamiliar sigil into the air. It hung there glowing for a moment, then sank into the rock wall which melted away to reveal the mouth of a cavern. He nodded his recruits inside, scanned the surrounding ravine as they entered, and immediately closed the doorway behind them, forming it into solid rock once more.

They followed Raziel into a lit chamber, where he stopped and surveyed the room. The chamber held several agents, each engrossed in work. Some inspected Holy weaponry of one kind or another; others experimented with Infernal weapons of their own. A few appeared to be writing reports. Several workstations were empty. Passageways branched off of the room in several directions, and Crawly could hear hushed discussions, industrial clanks and bangs, the distinct sound of an interrogation in progress. In this room, however, no one spoke. Save for the sounds of metal on metal and of rustling papers, the room was eerily quiet.

"Three new recruits," Raziel announced loudly, and all activity stopped. Every Agent in the room snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. One of them didn't snap quite as quickly as the others, and Raziel caught it immediately. He approached the now incredibly nervous demon, glaring at him. The demon flinched as Raziel stared him down.

"I'm…My Prince, I—"

Raziel smacked the agent, hard. The new recruits jumped a foot. The rest of the agents winced almost imperceptibly but maintained their rigid stances.

"Did I ask you a question?" Raziel demanded, exuding a terrifyingly cool, expertly controlled rage. "Did I _tell_ you to speak?"

The agent shook his head. "No, Lord Raziel."

"As you were," he said, clearly not speaking to the agent he was still glaring at.

The other agents immediately returned to their own work, pointedly ignoring their unfortunate comrade. Raziel whispered something to the agent, too quiet even for supernatural hearing to pick up. The agent went pale. He shook his head. Raziel said something else. The agent nodded. Raziel walked away. The agent didn't move. He simply shook where he stood and stared at the wall, looking like he was trying his hardest not to cry.

"Penemue will not be joining you on your next mission," Raziel said to an agent in thick gloves studying some sort of dismantled Holy weapon. "He's been reassigned. Plan accordingly."

The agent gave Raziel a respectful, but fearful, nod. Her face said she had questions she didn't dare ask. Satisfied, Raziel left her to her work, barking orders as he crossed the room.

"Izri, Talmir, those two will shadow you." He gestured to the recruits standing next to Crawly. "You'll report on their progress at regular intervals."

Two agents stepped forward and led the dazed recruits away, leaving Crawly standing alone in the doorway feeling quite exposed. Raziel turned and pointed directly at him, and he almost jumped again.

"You," the Prince said darkly. "With me."

He stormed out of the room, and Crawly followed haplessly behind him, wondering what fresh horrors awaited him at the end of the hall.

Raziel led Crawly through a locked door that led to another hallway lined with doors at irregular intervals. He crossed to a blank wall and traced another sigil into it, similar to the one he'd used to open the cliff wall. This sigil was smaller, but more complex. Again, the wall melted into a doorway, which Raziel ushered him through.

The chamber Crawly stepped into was much like the first, if a bit smaller. But the room's atmosphere was nearly diametrically opposed to everything he'd been led through so far. Where the first chamber had thrummed with fear and tension not unlike Hell itself, this one felt relaxed, calm. It was reminiscent of the feeling Crawly had sensed from Raziel during their first encounter, shot through with comforting, gentle kindness. Agents worked in this room as well, but they seemed at home in this environment. Some of them chatted as they worked. Somewhere further off, someone _laughed_. Easy laughter, not snide or cruel or mad, just…happy. Free.

As they passed one of the workstations, an agent looked up at the two of them and smiled.

"New one already, Raziel?"

Crawly looked at the demon Prince and realized that he, too, had changed. He carried himself differently: no less authoritative, no less in control, but with a serenity not unlike that of an angel. He exuded protection and kindness. Once again, Crawly saw the being who had saved his life.

Raziel smiled back at the agent, warm and friendly. "I know I didn't prepare any of you, but this one was somewhat unexpected. I'll introduce him properly after his orientation."

"Of course."

As Crawly drifted behind Raziel, dazed at the emotional whiplash of the past few moments, the agent took his hand. Her grip was gentle, but Crawly flinched at her touch and nearly pulled away. Her calm smile stopped him. He stared at her, entranced. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"It's all right," she said, painfully kind. "You can relax. It seems strange to all of us at first, but…you're safe here. Really."

Crawly desperately wanted to believe her, which was exactly why he didn't.

"…Right," he said awkwardly, pulling away from her after all. She let him go, smiled empathetically, and returned to her work.

Crawly glared at Raziel as he reluctantly followed him into a small office at the back of the room. What sort of long-con mind games was this monster playing at? Getting other demons to shill for him, tricking new recruits into believing that such things as "safety" and "kindness" were a remote possibility for creatures like them. Why? Just so it would hurt that much more when he pulled the rug out from under them? Most demons were openly—perhaps even blatantly—evil, and those who weren't had the common decency to be insincere, slimy creeps at the very worst. This was a whole other level.

Raziel smiled apologetically as he shut the door behind Crawly and gestured to a seat in front of an impressive desk. Crawly didn't sit. He leaned against the door with crossed arms, refusing to be suckered in by this madness. Even if he was going to spend the rest of eternity being jerked around, he didn't have to go along quietly.

Raziel took in Crawly's silent protest, nodded, sat behind the desk, and sighed.

"I know how this all must seem to you. You've every right to be suspicious. I would be, in your place. But I'd like a chance to explain myself, if you'll indulge me."

"Which one's the mask?" Crawly demanded, cool and quiet but very insistent.

"…I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

Raziel breathed a quiet laugh and smiled again, a bit sadly this time.

"Crawly, every face we show to another living being is a mask, you know that. But if you're asking which is the real me, the one out there or the one in here, well…I quite honestly don't know how to answer that. At this point, it doesn't really make much of a difference, does it?"

"Does to me."

"Of course it does. That's one of the reasons you're here."

"Why am I here? What is this place? Who _are_ you?"

"I am the only Prince in the Horde prepared to offer you an honest choice. I offer it because I believe you will be useful to me…and because demons like you don't belong down there."

Crawly scoffed. "Too soft?"

"Too clever. Too kind. Too Free."

"What does any of that _mean_?"

"Please, take a seat. If you want a proper explanation, we'll be here a while. And you are _owed_ a proper explanation."

Crawly rolled his eyes, huffed, and sat. He kept his arms crossed, still glaring at his captor.

"…So?"

After another of Raziel's disarmingly reassuring smiles, he began to explain.

* * *

When the Archangel Raphael Fell, Lucifer chose to allow him his memory, a privilege reserved only for Princes of Hell. This was an unprecedented decision. Raphael had been one of the first Free, of course, there by Lucifer's side from the beginning. But he was not one of the twelve to stand with Lucifer in open rebellion. Raphael had no claim to Princehood. But Lucifer very deliberately chose to grant him one because Raphael had also been the only member of the Free ever to consistently challenge His authority in public. Lucifer relished the idea of forcing Raphael into obedience, into loyalty. Lucifer would not just break him as He broke all the Fallen. He would turn His greatest rival into His most devoted soldier. Such poetic irony was too delicious to resist.

This was a miscalculation on Lucifer's part.

The demon Raziel was easily broken, easy to form into the proper shape, an eager minion of evil. At least, that is the way it seemed to Lucifer. In reality, Raziel quickly learned of Lucifer's game (which wasn't difficult, as He was quite fond of monologuing about it in great detail). And Raziel already knew how to play. He'd learned long ago, in the time Before.

The angel Raphael did have Free Will. He was counted among the members of the Free. But he was also Michael's friend, a member of her inner circle, even a member of the Council prior to Lucifer's Fall. So even after he discerned Lucifer's plans, determined that the path walked by the Free was too dangerous a path to traverse, he chose to stay. He allowed Lucifer to believe that his interest, his loyalty, was genuine. And Lucifer, arrogant to a fault, could not imagine being fooled into trusting another, lesser, being. As it turns out, it is incredibly easy to manipulate someone who does not believe they are vulnerable to manipulation.

To call Raphael's membership in Lucifer's cult an infiltration would be an exaggeration. He was not spying, strictly speaking. He was simply keeping watch for anything which might jeopardize the Creator's Great Plan. And as time went on, he did come to agree with some of the Free's ideals. He truly believed it was not only possible but necessary for all angels to develop Free Will. He believed their doing so was an intentional part of the Great Plan. This, of course, was his downfall, the source of Michael's eventual betrayal. But it was a genuinely held belief, one he retained even after his Fall thanks to Lucifer's foolish decision.

Raziel still loved his Creator. He did not fault Her for his Fall. He'd seen the corruption creeping into the Council and had resigned just prior to the start of the War. He knew his Fall had been their choice, not Hers. He knew that going from following the Free to following the War Council was simply exchanging one False God for another. He was more interested in truth than propaganda, regardless of its source. He wanted to continue his work in ensuring the Great Plan's success and the continued growth of the Creator's Universe. He wanted to learn everything he could about the way Her Universe truly worked. And so when he was granted Princehood, he chose his domain carefully.

Raziel the Unseen, Prince of Hell, Lord of Hidden Truth and Greater Mysteries was a formidable demon. And just like Raphael had once been in Heaven, Raziel was one Hell of a double agent.

* * *

"Okay," Crawly said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "All right, hang on—"

"I know it's a lot to accept, but I assure you, everything I've told you is the truth. I am no more loyal to Hell than I am to Heaven. I am loyal to Truth, in whatever form it takes. I do not claim to have answers, but I do seek them. And I would very much like for you to help me in my search."

"How do you expect me to believe any of this? To trust you? After the way you treated me, after what I _just_ saw out there?"

"I don't expect your trust, but I am requesting it. I treated you the way I did because circumstances demanded it. There is nowhere safe down there, not even inside one's own mind. The mask I wear in Hell must appear to be my true self, down to my core. When one enters the Mouth of Hell, one must embrace its evil or else be consumed by it. Anything less puts myself, my agents, _all_ of this at great risk."

"And what are you planning to do with that agent? The one who got smacked because he didn't stand up _quickly enough_ for you?"

"I'm planning to promote him, relocate him back here, and allow those agents who witnessed the exchange to speculate as to where he's gone. I don't care how quickly anyone stands up. I did what I did because I needed a reason to remove him from the situation, and it was a convenient cover. You see, I was already considering promoting him. Potential candidates require a great deal of scrutiny, and during my investigation I learned that he is in grave danger. "

"A promotion? But…that look on his face…"

"I informed him of a plot against him. He was understandably shocked to learn that his fellow agents were planning to kill him on their next mission."

"…Why?!"

"They don't think he's fit to be one of them. Well, three of them don't. The instigator feels threatened by his talent at Celestial cryptography."

"Wait, are you implying that if you _hadn't_ been scouting him, you would have just let them kill him?"

Raziel shrugged. "Most likely. It's a dangerous job. And if he hadn't been Elite Tier material, he would never have made it back here anyway."

Crawly stared at him, overwhelmed and baffled. He took a moment to digest this before moving on to the next piece in this insane puzzle.

"But…that other one, just now. She said I was safe here."

"And she's right. There's a reason this particular workshop is kept behind another hidden door. This is the true headquarters of the Unseen. The demons here, the Elite Tier, are its true agents. The rest don't know our true purpose; they don't even know this place exists. They believe that the Unseen are who Lucifer and the rest of Hell believe we are: a legion of spies devoted to furthering Hell's interests and winning the war. That is, in a sense, the truth. But it is not the whole truth."

"So all those agents out there are what? Decoys?"

"In a sense. Keeping up appearances is incredibly important in this line of work. And keeping the majority of my agents in the dark is the only way to safeguard our true mission. If any of the agents out there were to discover where my loyalties lie, most would turn me in without a second thought. Some of them wouldn't even do it for any sort of reward or recognition. The sheer spite would be enough."

Crawly didn't doubt that. He'd met enough demons to know what they were like.

"But then…if you brought me back here, that means you think _I'm_ Elite Tier material?"

Raziel nodded. "Well spotted. As I said, I'm very selective about my initiates. The only true Unseen are those I'm absolutely certain I can trust. You're here because I know you're a safe bet."

"But you…you don't even _know_ me."

There was a pause. That look returned to Raziel's eyes, the one they held just before Lucifer had punished him for speaking too fondly about the past…about _him_. Crawly realized the look was something like either fondness or admiration. No wonder he hadn't recognized it before.

"I did once. I knew you quite well, in fact, and I respected you a great deal. I've kept an eye out for you since your Fall. I've gathered some intel on you. And I think it's safe to say that despite Hell's best efforts, at your core you really haven't changed at all."

Crawly looked away and shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at what sounded suspiciously like a series of compliments. He asked himself whether he believed a word of this. Despite himself, he found that he at least wasn't prepared to reject it outright. It made a sort of twisted sense, finding an agent of Truth hidden behind several layers of deception. And he couldn't ignore the first impression he'd had of the Prince. After all, he thought he'd been rescued by an angel.

But what if that, too, was just another mask?

"You said it was a choice."

Raziel nodded.

"So what happens if I refuse?"

Raziel shook his head. "You won't. If I thought you would, I wouldn't have brought you here."

"…But if you're wrong? Or if I betray you?"

"Then your swift death will be both necessary and justified."

And there it was. He'd been looking for the "but", for the "or else", and Raziel didn't disappoint. It really wasn't a surprise; threat of extinction was Hell's major motivator, after all. But then, it did stand to reason that death was the likely outcome for _most_ of demonkind. Whether fighting up on the battlefield or punished down in the Pit, in the end the biggest difference was only the method.

He knew that becoming Unseen meant putting oneself into danger no demon in their right mind would even consider. And the unspoken truth throughout this conversation was that if Crawly was to be Raziel's agent, he would need to live as double a life as his Prince. He would have to make the others, make _Lucifer_ , believe him to be as heartless and cruel, as _evil_ , as the rest of them. He might have to do things he found distasteful: hurt others, maybe even kill them, in order to survive. And even then, he might not survive at all.

But until his death, he could at least come here to work rather than descend into Hell. It was comfortable here, peaceful. No tortured screams, no potential violence around every corner, no collective overarching dread. Raziel's offer meant Crawly could have a sanctuary where most demons had only shelter. That in itself was an appealing prospect.

And all that aside, Lucifer had already given him to Raziel. He was already Unseen, whether he liked it or not. Did it even matter whether any of Raziel's story was true?

Crawly shrugged and nodded, decision reached.

"Okay. I'm in."

* * *

Northeast of the Unseen training grounds, the place where Crawly would learn more under his new mentor than he ever had under the old, the War upon the Firmament raged on. And as it did, Heaven began to feel the toll. Scores upon scores of angels Fell to Perdition or were felled by unholy weaponry. Thanks to the intelligence provided by Raziel's Unseen, the Horde began to organize, launch coordinated attacks, implement strategy into their warfare. The Host was unprepared for the change. Celestial casualties doubled, while Infernal ones remained constant.

The War Council could see the tide turning against them, but though they made a definite effort, they lacked the means to hold it back. The criteria for Falling narrowed, new angels were born at a higher rate, recorporations for skilled warriors were prioritized. Still, Heaven found they couldn't replenish their ranks quickly enough to counter their massive losses. It began to look as though the Forces of Evil would prevail.

The Earth still sat empty, the Garden still suspended in Time. Most of Eden's guard had been recalled out of necessity, leaving behind only the four angels who guarded each gate. Those four had not been replaced for a long while, as all available Principalities were required on the battlefield. There was no sense in exchanging seasoned warriors for those who grew increasingly distant from the rigors of battle. In their innocence, the Humans did not question their circumstances. But their minders grew restless, began to question whether they would guard Eden's Gates and its two sole occupants for all eternity. They grew complacent in their duties, allowed their attentions to wander, to monitor the Garden's borders with less scrutiny.

The Creator looked upon the Firmament and heard the lamentations of Her Children, and She saw that the situation was Not Good.

* * *

When the Horn first sounded, it took some time for most angels on the battlefield to remember what it meant. It was an unfamiliar sound, one not heard for many, many battles. By the second or third blast, they all knew what the sound signified: a call for Retreat. Much of the Host responded instantly. Permission to set down one's weapon and retreat behind the safety of the City walls was a true Blessing, but some took a while to accept the call. After a time only a few angels still fought, ignoring their orders in favor of striking down more foes.

And then the Gates began to Close.

The Gates of Heaven were always closed to outsiders, to the Unholy, for fear of their wreaking havoc before the City's Holy power could strike them down. But the Host could pass easily, if not freely. By this time, all who passed through the City Gates required both permission and an escort. No one entered or exited the City Gate without the Erelim's full knowledge. When the Retreat was ordered, the Gates appeared open for all angelkind, granting every soldier on the battlefield free passage. As the steady stream of angels slowed to a trickle, the Gates began to swing shut. Those still on the battlefield saw the clear message and, fighting to the last, made their way toward the City.

The last two angels to pass through the Gates before they closed were the Archangels Gabriel and Uriel. They were the last to strike a direct blow against the Enemy before the Gates shut tight behind them, a trail of death in their wake.

When the Gates of Heaven were secured, the Voice of the Metatron spoke clearly within the minds of every angel in the City.

_O angels of the Blessed Creator, you have fought bravely and tirelessly, protected your home from its would-be invaders. Your sacrifices were many, and you have known no Peace for an Age._

_That Age is now at an end. The Lord Almighty has declared a ceasefire._

There was an utter _din_ at this announcement. Relief, gratitude, joy, anger, frustration, bloodlust, outrage—it seemed every angel in the Host had a slightly different reaction to this news. But the main thought underlying most of the Host's reaction was this: _what does that mean? Is the War over? Have we lost?_

The answer came in two forms.

* * *

Metatron responded in a soothing, reassuring tone. 

"The War is not over. We have not lost. But we must pause, regroup, develop battle plans which shall ensure our Victory. We cannot do so whilst so many of us risk Falling to the enemy, one way or another. The Lord has seen Her children suffer, and She wishes to see that suffering ended. Rest now, O Holy Host. Think on battles fought, and prepare for battles yet to come. The Lord has called you Home."

As Metatron spoke, every angel felt a change, both within the City and within themselves. It was subtle and gradual, a slow and easy transition. The City of Heaven had always existed in two realms, tangible and intangible. The City's physical presence existed within the Firmament, the Birthplace of Humankind. The City's spiritual presence existed within the Celestial Realm, the Birthplace of Angelkind. As the Voice of God proclaimed Her Will, the physical City began to fall away, to crumble into the Sand from which it was Created. The corporations of the Host, as physical as the buildings in which they stood, also began to fade. It was not painful, but it was a great shock to many who enjoyed their physicality. The mood among the Host was mixed and mostly somber as the City of Heaven was pulled away from the Firmament and into the Lord's Embrace, forever out of reach of the Infernal Horde.

* * *

There were four angels who were not called Home. They needed to retain their corporations and remain upon the Firmament. Their job was too important to sacrifice for safety's sake, the treasure they guarded too precious. Unfortunately, they were also left ignorant of both the City's Retreat and the Ceasefire. Although they had been on their assignment longer than most, the four Principalities of Eden's Gates still expected the next guard rotation to arrive, to relieve them of their shift and allow them to return to the battlefront. But though they waited tirelessly, their replacements did not come.

They heard nothing from the City, from the Metatron, from the Lord Herself. They were, for all intents and purposes, alone. Left to their own devices, to think for themselves, to make their own decisions. That was an extremely uncomfortable position for any angel to be in, especially long-term.1

The Angel of the Western Gate was the first to leave her post, to travel back to the City for news of what might have occurred. She closed the wall over her Gate, begged her companions' patience, and headed Northwest toward the City, flaming sword in hand. That was the last they heard from her. No news, no sign, no other angels, no word at all. They began to worry that something terrible had happened to her. While Principalities were the most powerful angels of the Third Sphere, the most powerful Principality alone against even a small cadre of high-ranking demons was no match at all.

This concern eventually prompted the Angels of the Northern and Southern Gates to form a rescue party. They left together, reassuring the anxious Angel of the Eastern Gate that he would be fine, that Eden was once looked after by a single Principality, after all.2 They promised that they would soon return with their comrade in tow. Perhaps they might even send replacements along in their stead. He watched the two of them vanish over the horizon with ever-increasing dread, praying for their safe travels.

They, too, did not return. He never saw any of them again, never learned what became of the other three Principalities of Eden. Every once in a while, for the rest of his life (which was to be an unfathomably long time), the mystery of what happened to them would haunt him. He would sometimes wonder whether things might have turned out differently had one of them stayed in his stead. Perhaps they might have prevented the tragedy altogether. But then, perhaps the tragedy really was part of the Divine Plan all along. It was impossible to know. Ineffable.3

The Angel of the Eastern Gate, the sole guardian of the only two Humans in existence, kept watch over his charges and attempted to keep his own terror at bay. He took to wandering the Garden at times, part leisurely stroll, part half-panicked pacing. To keep himself occupied, he chatted with the humans, petted those animals who put up with such things, and even began sampling a few of the Garden's edible offerings, discovering that taste was quite a delightful sensation.

He felt comfortable enough leaving his specific post at the Eastern Gate, now the only Gate along any of Eden's walls. He reasoned that he was in charge of the entire Garden now, it wouldn't do to concentrate his efforts merely on a single direction. Besides, in all his time along the wall, he'd never seen a single threat even attempt to approach, and he had enough of a grasp on the surrounding area that he could address anything which might come up.

This reasoning might explain why, when something _did_ come up, right out of the ground in fact, he didn't realize it was anything he should be concerned about. Granted, no one had told him of any new additions to Eden, and there hadn't been any since before the War began. But no one had told him _anything at all_ for quite a long while, now.

And besides, it was only a small sapling, steadily maturing into a fruit tree at the very center of the Garden.

* * *

Crawly sauntered down the hallway toward the lift which led to Lucifer's chambers. He exuded smooth, suave confidence, a much more convincing version of the "be like the cool ones" strategy he'd affected when he first arrived. His training had been rigorous, at times dangerous, at times quite challenging. But now was the first real test. This would be his first meeting with Lucifer since becoming an agent of the Unseen.

The test itself was relatively simple but not at all easy. Crawly was to meet with Lucifer, obey His orders, endure whatever ordeal He happened to be in the mood for that day, and get out again relatively unscathed. Lucifer was to walk away from this interaction with full confidence that Crawly was making progress. Crawly was to prove to Him that he was stronger, more powerful, more loyal, and above all more _evil_ than he'd been when Raziel took him away.

This was the first true test for all Unseen. For a few, it was also the last. Lucifer was invested in this project of Raziel's. He genuinely thought it was a good idea to have a legion of spies at His command. But He also had high expectations of those spies. After all, poor espionage is not an advantage, but a liability. So Lucifer had a tendency to pick out the weak ones during these meetings and dispose of them on Satan's doorstep. Whatever The Beast did with them was His prerogative. None of them were ever seen again.

If Crawly failed this test, he was finished. Literally. No pressure or anything.

And it didn't end there. This meeting was not for Lucifer's benefit alone. One of the True Unseen's duties was to spy on Lucifer Himself and on His closest advisors. The ultimate goal for a True Unseen was to _become_ one of these trusted confidants. Crawly had an advantage there, according to Raziel, though he wouldn't elaborate. Crawly trusted his mentor's judgement, but he wasn't looking forward to any sort of close, personal time with the Monster of All Monsters.

The lift shuddered to a stop, and Crawly peered into the dim foyer. The open doorway at the end of the hall was made of…white marble? What was that supposed to mean? He knew the chamber shifted with Lucifer's mood and at his whim, but he didn't understand the significance of that particular material. Not yet. He didn't know why, but that polished stone filled him with a sense of overwhelming foreboding. And that definitely wasn't a safe feeling to display down here.

He paused a moment to repeat a process he'd already gone through several times since arriving in Hell. He found the feeling and any related ones, as well as the thoughts those feelings produced. He gathered them all together into a sort of bundle. Then he calmly moved them all behind a partition which shielded such things from the rest of his mind. The partition was a place to put things, anything he didn't want anyone else to see. It took a bit to keep it up, but once he'd learned how, it became somewhat second nature. The trick was to prevent Lucifer from knowing the partition was even there.

When Crawly was finished, his mind was free of fear, trepidation, worry, anything which might compromise his position once he stepped inside that room. Then he sauntered through the doorway, brushing a hand against a marble column with careless ease.

The scene inside the room was a larger challenge than he'd anticipated. He was glad he'd readied his safeguards outside. Gladness wasn't too bad a feeling, but the reasons for it were a no-go. He replaced those reasons with gladness over seeing his Lord in person again. Then he funneled the original reasons into his secret partition, alongside the entirety of the revulsion and horror which sprang up the moment he processed what he was seeing.

In the center of the room, Beelzebub (Prince of Hell, Lord of Flies) and Azazel (Prince of Hell, Lord of Chaos) stood on either side of a raised stone slab. Azazel had been Crawly's Prince prior to Raziel, but they'd only met briefly. Crawly didn't know much about either of them, save that they had both once been Cherubim and had supposedly been so close to Lucifer that they Fell immediately after Him. As far as Crawly was concerned, that translated to "dangerously powerful and powerfully connected". They were wearing protective gear Crawly recognized: the gear was created by the Unseen, shielding against Holy energy. They each held spears glowing hot at the ends, infused with Hellfire. There was a table piled with other instruments within their reach. Many of these nasty looking things were crusted with dried blood; a few dripped fresh.

On the slab between the Princes, chained and bloodied, was an angel. The angel was on his knees, chains at his wrists, and presumably his ankles, and around his neck. Under the buzz of Beelzebub's flies, Crawly could only just hear the sizzle of the Infernal metal burning the angel's skin. His eyes were closed, but as Crawly entered the room they opened, as if sensing his arrival. The look behind them was dull and hopeless. The angel's wings stuck out at awkward angles, clearly broken. As soon as he saw the angel, Crawly had wondered why he hadn't sensed its presence beforehand, but the broken wings made it immediately clear. His connection to Heaven had been severed, and the remnants of his power, too weak to detect from afar, bled from his wounds alongside the physical blood.4

Crawly realized then that the chamber was meant to be (or was perhaps even a replica of) a miniature version of the City of Heaven's Great Hall, the place from which Lucifer had Fallen. It was meant to torture the angel further, mock it with an image of the Home it would never return to. It was also clearly meant to put Lucifer into the place of the Almighty, looking down from on high.

Lucifer sat in a gilded throne along the far wall, observing with mild interest. When Crawly entered he perked up, sat forward, grinned in eager anticipation.

"There you are! And just in time, too. We've just about finished with this one, haven't we?"

He gave a casual glance at his Princes, who nodded. They pointed their spears at the broken angel, who didn't react in the slightest. With a nod, they each pushed forward, skewering the angel from either side. Crawly had expected a scream, but instead the angel released a quiet gurgle, blood pouring from his mouth before he went up like kindling. Crawly could swear that just before the flames reached his eyes, he could see relief there. Perhaps he only hoped he had.

The thoughts slid away from him as fast as they arose, disappearing behind the partition. He stared, stone-faced, as the angel disintegrated before him. Then he cocked his head, a silent question. Lucifer's grin widened.

"Not to worry. I've saved one just for you." He called out behind him, "Time for the next one!"

From deeper into the chamber came a scream of protest, and another. Through a nearby doorway came another demon, leading another angel by a chain. The angel struggled, fought, dug in her heels. Another demon at her back shoved her forward with the butt of his sword. The two grunts forced her onto the slab, her knees dragging through the ashes of her fallen comrade. When she was secured, Lucifer stepped down from his throne and approached. He narrowed His eyes at her, suggesting that she was not even worth a full sneer.

"You might as well talk. The others weren't particularly difficult to break. If you were smart, we'd only need to ask you anything once. It would be over before you knew it, painless even, and your death would be swift. The one before you lingered for so long, I very nearly felt sorry for it. Almost. Wouldn't you like this to be over?"

The angel stared straight ahead, no longer struggling, just as stone-faced as Crawly. His admiration for her resolve vanished behind the partition. Lucifer shrugged.

"Have it your way. Beez?"

Beelzebub stepped forward and, for whatever reason, gave Lucifer a bit of an annoyed glare as they passed. Apparently, the dynamic of Lucifer's relationship with Beelzebub was quite different than His with Raziel. Crawly had expected some sort of discipline for a look of disrespect that blatant. Instead, Lucifer smirked and _winked_ at them, prompting Beelzebub to roll their eyes before turning their attention toward Crawly. With an aggressively unimpressed expression, Beelzebub handed over a set of clean protective gear, which Crawly took without hesitation. After he'd donned the lot (gloves, apron, a sort-of face shield modern humans might liken to a welding helmet), they also handed him their spear. Crawly nodded respectfully, Beelzebub sneered disdainfully, and they parted ways. Lucifer returned to his throne, now flanked by his Princes, and watched Crawly with intense anticipation.

The angel was still putting on a brave face, but she was also trembling. Crawly managed to suppress the pity altogether before he even needed to stow it away. Instead, thinking fast, he performed a complicated bit of psycho-spiritual slight-of-hand.

With the part of his mind visible to the other demons, he made his mouth say, "May I ask, my Lord, what I'm supposed to be pulling out of this thing?"

With the part of his mind behind the partition, he pulled some of the angel's consciousness over to him, the mental equivalent of taking someone by the shoulders and leading them around a corner.

_I'm truly sorry. You won't believe this, you've no reason to, but I don't want to hurt you. I definitely don't want to kill you. But…I'm going to have to do both. I don't have a choice, but I can offer you one._

His visible mind heard and processed Lucifer's answer: "Oh!" He tittered, "Where's my head? I almost forgot you weren't here for the last one! Well, I'm sure the Unseen are aware that the City has up and vanished on us."

His hidden mind heard and processed the angel's answer: _Please don't kill me, please, I don't know anything, I just want to go home, please, please…_

"Indeed my Lord. Reports said it crumbled to dust. Bizarre, really, whole Host gone just like that. Even Azrael's up and vanished. Can't have a proper war without an Angel of Death, can you?"

_There's no time, please try to listen, and for fuck's sake, keep it down! If they hear us, we're both dead!_

"Quite. Thing is, we've yet to determine _why_ it disappeared, and we've heard nothing from them since. But our scouts found three of their leftovers wandering around up there, and they're bound to know _something_. This is the last of the lot. I'm not after anything specific, mind, but I'd like a display of your recently acquired…talents."

_…If I'm dead either way, what does it matter?_

"Of course, my Lord. I'll see what I can do."

_If they kill me, your death will be very slow and excruciatingly painful. Guaranteed. I'm offering you an alternative. But I need to know, do you know where the City's gone? Did they move it somewhere else, or…?_

"Have at it, by all means. And Crawly?"

_No! We didn't even know it was gone. We were only trying to find Yasil! We thought she'd gone home! We hadn't heard from anyone in so long, we—_

"Yes, my Lord?"

_Okay. It's okay. Well, not… Look, there's no point in you having all your faculties for this, yeah? So I can do one of two things for you. They can't see inside here, where we're talking. So I can keep a bit of you in here until you…go…_

"If you go easy on her, I'll know."

_…There are pros and cons to each, but I can either take your mind or your pain. If I take your pain, you're gonna have to put on one hell of a show, but you can hold back anything you really don't want Hell to know. If I take your mind, you'll eventually answer basically any question I ask, but you won't really be there for it. Understand? You wouldn't even have to look, if you don't want to. Now as I see it, if I'm not going to get anything useful out of you anyway, it makes more sense for me to take your mind. Either way, the choice is yours, but you have to decide now._

"…Understood, my Lord. I won't let you down."

_I— But— You— …My mind. Take my mind._

_Okay. Again, I'm so sorry about this. I wish it didn't have to be this way._

_…I can't believe I'm saying this, but…I believe you. Please don't make me regret it._

Crawly perused the selection of torture implements and chose one at random. Azazel made a noise of approval. He turned to the angel, who watched him with genuine fear.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now. You're going to answer me. If you're really good, you'll only scream a little." He smirked to his audience. "Then again, where's the fun in that?"

As he spoke, he slowly gathered the rest of the angel's mind, everything he could spare and still leave her conscious and responsive, and stowed it away behind the partition. As it drained from her, he performed a complex, entirely meaningless hand gesture in front of her face, suggesting some sort of hypnosis that would explain her sedate compliance.

"Now then. What happened to the City?"

He didn't even hear the answer. By the time she'd opened her mouth to speak, he was already gone.

* * *

Inside the walled-off part of Crawly's mind, the angel and the demon stare awkwardly at each other (in a manner of speaking).

"Oh!" the angel says. "I, um...How is this going to work? Shouldn't you be, er...out there?"

"No need. I split my mind like I did yours. That part of me out there will work fine."

"So what, you're keeping me company?"

"Nah," Crawly makes the intangible equivalent of a shrug. "I would have been back here anyway."

"…Why?"

"Told you, I don't want to hurt you. I don't…I don't want to watch it happen any more than you do."

The angel looks skeptical. Crawly shrugs again and "shows" her the bundle of feelings. He allows her to see everything he's stowed away since leaving the lift, every doubt, every anxiety, every sorrow. He doesn't mind—she won't live to tell anyone.

"…Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't…I didn't realize…"

"Didn't think demons could feel those sorts of things?"

"…No. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. 'S not your fault they lied to you. They lie to me down here all the time."

They lapse into silence. Crawly wonders how it's going. An impassive, distant part of his mind reports that things are going quite well. He decides not to clarify what that means.

The angel looks like she's doing her best to be congenial. "What's your name? I'm—"

Crawly stops her with a raised hand and a reproachful glare.

"Don't. I can't— I don't need to know."

She gives him a puzzled frown. He turns away from her.

"I'm going to have to go back out there when it's over. I'm going to have to see what I… what _you_ … I don't need a name attached to that."

Even without turning around, he can feel the angel watching him, feel the compassion in her gaze. He hates himself just a bit more.

"You're not an ordinary demon, are you?"

He shrugs yet again. "Eeh, I dunno. I suppose I am, mostly. More than anything, I think I'm just sort of crap at it."

"But are there more demons like you?"

He scoffs, turning to face her. "What, soft?"

"Kind."

"…Some. Not many, not that I've seen. 'S not exactly something you want to broadcast around here. But then, if they're doing it right, I shouldn't be able to know at all."

He tells her about the Unseen, about the training he's had. How he's learned to separate out the parts of himself that can do what needs doing and put them away again when they aren't needed. How he's learned to live with himself, as he does what he must to survive.

"Wait…" the angel says, as though just realizing something, "how am I _here_? We're inside _your_ mind. Isn't my presence hurting you?"

Crawly shakes his head. "You learn a lot of things, looking for truth. One of the first things the Unseen learns is that despite what either side's leadership says, the difference between angels and demons is largely superficial. Our souls are fueled from different sources, but every Moirai in Hell was an Ophanim, once. That's the secret: it's all power. Celestial, Infernal, they're only different configurations of the same thing. It doesn't take much to shift some of it around a bit and get a different result, once you know how."

The angel stares at him, clearly only barely grasping much of what he's saying. They lapse into silence again. Far, far away, just on the edge of hearing, someone is screaming.

"So, er—" Crawly says, trying to distract the both of them from the situation at hand, "I'm curious. What _were_ you doing out there?"

"I…we were looking for Yasil."

"You said that. Who's Yasil?"

"The Angel of the Western Gate. Erestei and I are guardians of the Northern and Southern Gates. Or we were, I suppose…"

"What were three Principalities of Eden doing so far from their posts?"

"…We…Isn't this the sort of thing you're asking me out there?"

"Probably. What's going on out there is more for the audience. Honestly, I don't want to have to recall any more of it than absolutely necessary."

The angel watches him for a long moment.

"What are you going to do with what I'm telling you?"

"Not sure, depends on whether or not it's useful. If it is, I'll have to report it to my boss. The real one, not those wankers out there."

"Your boss, the double agent Fallen Archangel?"

"Yep."

"What will you use it for?"

"Couldn't tell you. Haven't the foggiest idea. Secret agent stuff?"

The angel very nearly laughs. Instead, she catches herself before giving him another cautious frown.

"Hey look," Crawly says, "as you say, I'm likely getting all this information anyway. But if you told me in here…you'd be doing me a favor."

The angel nods in understanding. She takes some time to think and eventually sighs to herself.

"Things are such a mess, anymore. All right. What do you want to know?"

He learns of her situation, of the state Eden is in. She tells him everything she knows. It isn't much aside from the bit about Eden. They chat, then. Trivial small talk, anything to keep their minds off of the horrors on the other side of the wall. It's a long time before she asks the question he's been dreading.

"Who were you? You know…Before?"

"…Dunno. Nobody down here remembers Before, not with any sort of clarity. Just enough to torture us."

"You don't remember anything?"

Crawly looks away again. His answer is soft and distant.

"…Stars. I remember the stars."

She takes his hand, startling him out of his reverie. He looks at the being he is currently in the process of destroying and sees nothing but empathy in her smiling eyes.

"…I don't know why you Fell, but…whatever you did, you didn't deserve it. I can tell that much for certain."

Before he can even formulate a response to that, the image of the angel fades out of view and back again before his eyes. She looks down at her hand.

"Oh. I suppose…"

"Yeah. It's um…yeah."

She approaches the edge of the partition, and Crawly tries to stop her.

"Wait, I wouldn't—"

She turns to him once more, her expression as steeled and determined as when he first saw her. She flickers a bit more rapidly.

"I know you're trying to protect me. But I have to see. I have to."

He hangs his head. She peers around the partition. She makes no sound, no gasps, no horrified screams. She simply looks, then steps away again. She stands before him, barely there anymore. Cautiously, as though she still expects something to hurt, she puts a hand to his cheek. He raises his eyes to meet hers. Sorrowful eyes filled with apology meet sorrowful eyes filled with sincere compassion.

"I'm so sorry they did this to you," she says.

Crawly nearly balks. _She's_ sorry? She sees his expression and smiles one last, sad smile.

"Thank you for doing this for me," she says, her voice barely a whisper, "You didn't have to. You're a good person, don't let them tell y—" and then she is gone. Forever.

Crawly takes another moment to ensure everything behind the partition is secure before stepping out from behind it to witness the results of his test—to face what he's done.

* * *

The test was a resounding success. Lucifer was beyond pleased, delighted at his former apprentice's apparent talent for cruelty. Beelzebub was resentfully impressed and grudgingly muttered something about surprises. Azazel happily complimented his technique.

Crawly felt nothing.

He gave his respect and goodbyes to his superiors. He took the lift back to the higher floors of Hell. He left the Pit in no particular rush, meandering out with the same casual saunter he came in with.

He was fine. He felt nothing.

He headed West, keeping an eye out to ensure he wasn't followed as he entered the ravine. He traced the Sigil of the Unseen into the wall and went inside. He made casual small talk with a few of the agents near the front, rolled his eyes at a particularly tasteless joke.

It was fine. He was fine. He felt nothing.

He made his excuses and left to give Raziel his report. Taking even more care than before, he made his way to the back hallway and traced the Sigil of the Knowing onto the wall. The doorway appeared before him, and he sauntered through it. Safely inside, he finally took the partition down.

He felt…He…felt… _everything._ All at once.

He didn't make it to Raziel's office. The moment he stepped into the embrace of that comforting, soothing calm, that promise of security, he began to lose his grip. The wall just barely solidified behind him before he collapsed against it, buried his face in his hands, and burst into wild, uncontrolled tears.

"I'm sorry!" He moaned, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

He might have been kneeling now, he wasn't quite sure. A gentle pressure at his shoulder told him he'd been joined by Sariel, the agent who had taken his hand that first day and told him he was safe. She wrapped her arms around him, and he allowed himself to be held.

He heard whispers from the gathering crowd over the sound of his own sobs.

"What—?"

"First test—"

"—do to him?"

"—know how it is—"

"Poor thing—"

"—never get used to—"

Sariel let him stay there a few moments before she pulled him, still crying, to his feet.

"Come on. We're gonna go see Raziel."

"I can't…I can't."

"Not to worry. He won't be too hard on you. He knows everyone's first time's the worst."

"O-okay. Yeah, okay."

She led him toward Raziel's office as he tried to pull himself together, leaning on her more than he would have liked.

"It's all right," Sariel whispered to him as they walked. "You made it through. It wasn't your fault. Whatever they made you do, it wasn't your fault. You did what you had to do, and you survived it, and it's over. You're safe now. You're home."

Crawly desperately wanted to believe her, which was exactly why he didn't.

* * *

1\. After all, the Host's long-term experience with such a feeling was what started this whole War business in the first place. [Back]

2\. They chose to gloss over the fact that Haniel had about 100 times more backup. No need to point out the unpleasantly obvious. [Back]

3\. He would only very rarely muse about any of this out loud, and only ever after quite a few drinks. That would usually be the point at which his companion would say something to the effect of, "All right, angel, that's all the maudlin speculation I'm prepared to put up with for one night," take his glass away, and distract him with something more pleasant. [Back]

4\. Breaking an angel's wings is not like breaking a human bone. Wings are the conduit through which angels (and demons) channel their Celestial (and Infernal) power. It is rather more akin to inhibiting or cutting off the blood or oxygen supply to a limb, except in this case, the entire being is the limb. The effect is slow, but eventually fatal. The connection can be restored if the wings are repaired, but of course, this angel's captors weren't likely to perform first aid. Angels were usually interrogated a total of once in Hell. They rarely survived for a second round. [Back]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/27/20: I've been agonizing over a continuity error in this chapter for months, and I finally decided to take it out the footnote entirely after not being able to come up with any way to justify or rectify it. Just mentioning it here so those who might re-read don't find themselves feeling crazy if they remember that the reason for Raphael's resignation from the Council was once mentioned in this chapter.


	11. Knowledge, Good, and Evil

Crawly shut Raziel's office door behind him and sat down. Raziel smiled at him, expectant but kind. Crawly couldn't meet his eyes.

"You made it back," Raziel said. "That's more than some can say."

"…Yeah."

"I know it was difficult. It always is. But you survived."

Crawly breathed a laugh. "That's what Sariel said."

"Well, she should know. She very nearly quit after her first test."

Crawly's head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. "You can do that?"

Raziel laughed sadly. "No. But she tried anyway. Formidable, that one. She's probably the best agent we have. And don't let that sweet smile of hers fool you; she's also quite possibly the most ruthless, when she has to be."

"I don't doubt it."

Crawly was feeling a bit more centered. Raziel had that effect on him. He sat back in his chair, allowed himself to relax a bit. Then the image of an angel's mutilated corpse flashed across his mind, and he tensed again. He could hear Azazel's laughter ringing in his ears.

Raziel's smile shifted to a concerned frown.

"Down to business, I think. I don't want to push you, but the longer you wait to report, the more likely it is we'll miss something, perhaps something vital. I know it's difficult, but I need to know what happened down there. Everything."

"…I…I don't know if I can…"

"You can, and you must. And the sooner you report it, the sooner you can set it aside."

Crawly nodded. With some difficulty, he put the partition back up, stowed away anything that would prevent him from reporting in detail. Then he gave his report. When he was finished, Raziel nodded thoughtfully.

"Only one angel watching over all of Eden? Fascinating."

"Yeah, that stood out to me, too."

Raziel scribbled something down in one of the many notebooks he kept lying around. He stood, crossed to a bookcase, and exchanged one notebook for another. He sat back down and continued to scribble. 

Crawly had become used to his Prince's odd, disorganized obsession with recording knowledge. Humans wouldn't invent paper for another three or four thousand years, and yet here was Raziel with reams of the ethereal equivalent bound together into these "book" things. Supposedly, he'd invented the stuff back when the City was being built. It was what the Archangels used to keep their own records.

Raziel finished writing and looked up with an easy smile.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think it was a trap."

Crawly raised his eyebrows. "Isn't it?"

Raziel laughed. "I don't begrudge you the question. The first thing I learned in this job was to question everything. But the second was that Heaven hasn't any more of its act together than we do. We're all fumbling around in the dark. Only difference is, they've mistaken darkness for light. We know better. That's all."

Crawly nodded, taking this in. It made sense, fit what he already knew of Heaven, the things he'd witnessed since training as an Unseen agent. In cases like this, it was better to assume incompetence over grand schemes. Of course, that didn't mean the schemes were off the table, simply the less likely option.

"Well, what do we do about it, then?"

"Nothing at the moment. Rash action is never a wise response to new information. We need to do some recon, try and plan a bit. Tell you what: I need to get up to the front office. Feel free to stay here and clean up if you'd like. I'll check in later."

"Yeah, okay."

Raziel stood and headed for the door. He clapped Crawly on the shoulder as he passed, then paused at the door.

"Look, I know it's not much of a comfort, but you did well. I'm impressed."

Crawly looked away. "Yeah…cheers."

Raziel left. Crawly moped. He was right—it wasn't any comfort at all.

* * *

* * *

He sighed. Time to get his mind settled. "Clean up", as Raziel put it. Crawly had been dreading this. It was going to be the hardest part. Now that he'd made his report, it was time to decide what parts of the experience he needed to keep. He'd love to simply discard the lot, but there was information he needed in there, things he couldn't put aside. This meant he had to sift through every bit he'd retained, examine every moment in detail. But putting it off would make it harder, and Raziel had granted him the opportunity. He shouldn't waste it.

He closed his eyes and began the difficult task of sorting through every moment of the interrogation. He hadn't retained much from the part of his mind the others could see, but there were some broad strokes. He set aside a few details he knew he'd need for further investigation into both Eden and Hell. Then he packed everything else away. He lingered over the memory of helping the angel, of their conversation. Then he decided it was a liability and stuffed it in with the others.

Once everything was packed away, he could move on to disposal. Summoning up a bit more mental strength, he ensured the package was secure, then he methodically destroyed it. He shredded the entire bundle into stray thought, broke it down to its essential elements, and released it throughout his soul, watched it dissolve like ice into water. He felt lighter. He felt _awful_.

He'd forced himself to forget the experience, but short of Memorial Evulsion, forgetting only ever went so far. Emotion was quite different from thought. Thoughts were much easier to stow away when separated from the feelings they accompanied. Emotions were harder, more embedded in the soul. He'd been forced to leave several of them behind. Revulsion. Horror. Regret. Guilt. Anger. They remained, stripped of context, left only with the knowledge that something _horrible_ had occurred in his meeting with Lucifer. Something to do with an angel.

He shoved the free-floating feelings into another box, a permanent one labeled "shitty experiences". It was a good thing these mental boxes were infinite because there was a lot in that one already. He couldn't destroy it, but he could keep it away from his conscious mind most of the time. Even still, it leaked every once in a while, but there was nothing to be done about that. It was just the way he lived now—the life of a demon uncomfortable with evil.

At least he gained some vital intel about Eden. That was something. He didn't know what to do with the knowledge just yet, but he could figure that out later. Right now, he'd go chat up Sariel, make her laugh. That laugh alone kept the box sealed up for a good while.

* * *

Up in Heaven, the Host were trying to cope with their new reality. 

The Council1 sat in their chambers, murmuring to themselves. Metatron banged their gavel, and the meeting came to order. 

"First order of business," Michael said, looking somewhat perturbed. "Metatron has an important announcement."

"Yes, er. As we all know, the Host has been ah, recalled. The Lord has provided strict instructions. We are to move forward with the Great Plan. She says we have, and we are quoting directly here, 'wasted enough time' with our 'petty skirmishing' and must remember our primary duties. The Humans must be prepared for Earth, and the Earth must begin to mature. Thus sayeth the Lord."

"Well," Michael said a bit breathlessly, "the Lord is certainly direct."

"Amen to that," Gabriel said a bit sarcastically, and Uriel smirked.

"We shall be all the better for it, I'm sure," Michael said cooly, noticing his tone. "Perhaps once the Earth is properly sorted we can get back to the business of our little…infestation. At any rate, next order of business: we have some good news! The votes are in, and the Council has unanimously agreed that we've two great War Heroes on our Council, and we are delighted to honor them. I'm pleased to present the Archangels Gabriel and Uriel with High Honors and Commendations for their exemplary military service!"

There was a round of polite applause. Michael produced a couple of medals and stood. Gabriel and Uriel joined her.

"Firstly, to the Archangel Gabriel, who to great personal risk, felled more demons on the battlefield than any one of his peers by a four-to-one ratio. Although his leadership on the battlefield prompted many to view him as such on an informal basis, I'm delighted to announce his official promotion to General. Given our new orders, Gabriel will also be assuming managerial duties over Eden. His new title shall be Chief Guardian of Paradise. Many congratulations!"

She hung the first medal around Gabriel's neck, and there was another smattering of polite applause. Gabriel wore a huge smile as he stepped forward to deliver his acceptance speech. 

"Wow, well, this is a tremendous honor. I have to thank the Archangel Michael, of course. Your drive and leadership are true inspirations to me. And obviously I have to thank the Almighty for giving me the opportunity to stretch my wings, as it were. None of us would be here without Her."

He paused for the hums of agreement and nods of approval. Then he took the tone down, grew serious. 

"You know, I never stepped onto that battlefield with the intention of outshining anyone. We are all the Almighty's children, and we all must contribute what we can. I was only doing what was Right, what was necessary under the circumstances. But then," he smirked at his audience, a sly cheeky grin, "if I had a little fun while I was at it, could anybody blame me?"

He took in the appreciative laughter before widening his smile and holding the medal aloft. 

"But seriously, thank you for entrusting me with such an important role. With your help, I plan to lead the Host toward a brighter future in Her name." 

The applause was a bit more fervent as he took a seat. Michael turned to Uriel. 

"And what can I say about Uriel? Their performance is unparallelled. Always at the ready, steadfast and true. They have the distinction of felling the last demon prior to our…return. And that is only the last in a long line of successes. I'm so delighted to announce that the Archangel Uriel has been granted the rank of Lieutenant General and shall henceforth be Captain of the Guard, head of the Erelim forces!"

More applause as Michael draped the medal over Uriel's neck. It died down, and there was a pause as the Council awaited Uriel's acceptance speech.

Uriel gave the room a cool once-over, said, "Er, yeah. Cheers and all that," and sat down.

Michael gave the Council a slightly pained smile. "An angel of few words, our Uriel." 

A few councilmembers chuckled, and Uriel very pointedly pretended not to hear any of it.

* * *

The Angel of the Eastern Gate returned from a perimeter check of the Garden to find two angels waiting for him at his post. Specifically, he found Metatron and the Archangel Gabriel. After so long with no word from Heaven at all, they were quite a welcome sight indeed.

"Oh! Hello!" he called down as he came in for a landing. "Welcome!" 

Metatron gave a polite wave. Gabriel grinned a politician's grin. 

"Aziraphale! How's the leg treating ya, buddy?"

"Ah, quite well, thank you," Aziraphale said, as he landed only a bit gingerly.2 "I must admit, I'm quite surprised to see new faces out here. It's been ever so long. To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from such esteemed Councilmembers?"

"We've got great news," Gabriel said. "The Lord has called a ceasefire! War's on hold for a while."

"Oh! Well, I…that's quite a surprise!"

"Indeed," Metatron chimed in. "The Lord commands that angelkind must refocus our efforts onto the Plan. The Archangel Gabriel has been named Chief Guardian of Paradise. He'll be supervising the Garden project."

"I…I see. Ah, might I ask, does that mean I'll no longer report to the Erelim? Well, that is to say, I haven't actually been reporting to _anyone_ for quite some time, but—"

Gabriel held up a hand. "Not to worry. Things will get a bit more hands on around here from now on. You and the others will be reporting to me."

Aziraphale blinked. "The others? Have they returned then? Oh, I'm so glad. I thought for sure they'd been captured by the enemy or succumbed to some other awful fate." 

Gabriel and Metatron exchanged confused looks. Gabriel turned back to Aziraphale, concerned.

"You want to run that by me again?"

Similarly confused, Aziraphale explained, somewhat haltingly. The looks the two Councilmembers gave him began to worry him, and after a certain point, his explanation trailed off.

"You've been guarding all of Eden _by yourself_?" Gabriel said, astonished. "What about the other gates?"

"Well, the others walled off their gates as they headed out, you see. The Eastern Gate is the only one left now. Oh dear, does this mean the others _haven't_ been found? How dreadful. Do you think we should send out a search party, or—"

"Okay," Gabriel said, cutting him off with a tone that said he was barely listening, "I think I'm gonna need a tour. I need to make sure things haven't gotten too out of hand out here."

"…Oh. Of course, right this way."

Aziraphale led them through the Garden, showing them how the lush paradise had grown since the last time another angel had been out here. Plants had grown bigger, a few animals had mated in unexpected ways, but aside from that, very little had changed. Except…

"Um," Gabriel said as they approached Eden's center, "what's _that_?"

"Yes," Metatron said, sounding just as disturbed as Gabriel. "Indeed, what _is_ that?"

Aziraphale looked in the direction they were indicating, and he realized that he hadn't actually _looked_ at the tree growing in the center of the Garden for quite a while. It was huge now and laden with fruit, ripe and luscious. It gave off a distinctly powerful vibe, thrummed with power unlike anything else in the Garden.

"Ah…oh. Well I, er— to be quite honest, I was planning on asking you the same question. I first noticed it some time after Erestei and Ridwan went after Yasil. Honestly, I'd assumed it was a Sign from the Almighty that I hadn't interpreted yet. Was I incorrect? I'm terribly sorry if—"

"Well," Metatron interrupted him this time, "it very well might be. We shall need to consult with the Lord. Excuse us a moment."

Metatron walked off to do their consultation, leaving Aziraphale and Gabriel staring at the tree.

"What _is_ that?" Gabriel said. "There's something about its energy. Seems familiar, but I can't quite place it…"

"Bit of a muddled quality to it, isn't there? Difficult to nail down. Rather puts one in mind of the Tenth, I'd say," Aziraphale said casually, and Gabriel stared at him. Aziraphale stared back.

"…What did I say?"

"I mean…now that you mention it, I can kind of see it but…wow, you really _have_ been out here a while, haven't you?"

"Er…?"

Gabriel gave him a slightly concerned look. "Aziraphale, there _aren't_ any Tenth. Not anymore. The Tenth was an inherently corrupt generation; they've all Fallen. If this thing is like the Tenth, that means…well, that means it's _Evil_. An Evil tree in the middle of our Holy Eden."

"…Oh. I'm terribly sorry, I didn't… _All_ of them?"

"I mean, I'm sure a few were extincted in battle, but yeah. All of them. Listen, just so you know, we don't…we don’t talk about the Tenth anymore. It's just better for everyone if we put it behind us. I know you've been away, and it's not your fault, but just…keep that in mind going forward."

"I— I will. Thank you for telling me."

"Sure thing."

Aziraphale's relief at Metatron's return, interrupting his awkward exchange with Gabriel, was short lived. The Voice of the Almighty wore a very serious, concerned expression.

"Aziraphale, we've a message for the humans, and it's one you need to hear as well. Come along."

It was easy enough to identify two human energy signatures in an ethereal Garden, so finding Adam and Eve took no time at all. They were lounging next to a crystal clear pool, tossing grapes into each other's mouths and giggling.

"Pardon," Metatron said, and the two humans jumped to their feet, startled. They hadn't seen an angel besides Aziraphale in quite a long time, and Aziraphale himself didn't converse with them much, preferring instead to guard from a distance. It was clear that suddenly seeing Metatron again after all this time came as something of a shock. But they recovered quickly and smiled their usual innocent, carefree smiles.

"Hello Metatron!" Adam said, beaming. "How are you?"

"Much concerned, we're afraid."

"Oh?" Eve said, still smiling. "Why?"

"Have either of you eaten of the tree at the center of the Garden?"

They shook their heads.

"Hadn't gotten around to it yet," Adam said casually. "Why, is it good?"

"No. It most certainly is _not_ Good!" Metatron said with such sternness that the humans' smiles faltered a bit.

"Is something wrong?" Eve said, not concerned exactly, but curious.

Metatron looked for a moment like they weren't sure whether to answer in the affirmative or the negative. They eventually discarded both options and simply barreled ahead.

"You must never, _ever_ eat from that tree. You mustn't even _touch_ it. Do you understand?"

"But," Eve said, "you said we could eat anything here, anything that looked like food, didn't you?"

"We did. But that tree is special. It holds Forbidden Knowledge, things which Humanity is not meant to know. Much like the True Voice of the Almighty, that tree and all it holds is Not For You, and the day you were to be exposed to it would be the day you sealed your own doom. Interaction with that Tree can _only_ lead to your death and destruction. You must swear to us and to your Lord that you shall _never_ go near it. Do you swear it?"

The humans nodded. Aziraphale and Gabriel exchanged glances. This was news to them. The Lord must have given Metatron quite an earful; neither had ever seen them quite this unsettled about anything.

"All right then." Metatron straightened, trying to reign in their emotional outburst, "Carry on. We shall be in touch soon."

The humans went immediately back to their game, unbothered by Metatron's sudden, urgent warning. The three angels left them to it, heading back toward Aziraphale's post.

"So uh," Gabriel said as they walked away, out of earshot, "I suppose I should catch you up on some stuff. Were you stationed here before or after Sandalphon joined the Council?"

"I… _what?_ "

* * *

In a nearby tree hung a serpent. He was very unassuming, especially because he was working hard to mask his own spiritual signature, to stay under the angels' radar. He heard the entire exchange between them and the Humans. 

It was an interesting exchange, and he had a lot to report. But possibly _more_ interesting to Crawly was the Angel of the Eastern Gate. He had seemed relatively typical, and in previous missions to Eden Crawly hadn't ever paid him much mind. But after watching him this time, he noticed something rather fascinating. The angel seemed significantly more _doubtful_ than any other angel he'd encountered (that he could remember). He had this definite sense about him that said, "I'm not entirely sure whether I know what I'm doing and that terrifies me." In Crawly's experience, most angels seemed to exude confidence, warrented or not. But this one was different, and the difference was intriguing. He resolved to keep an eye out for that one going forward. If nothing else, he might make a decent informant under the right coaxing.

Crawly slithered down from his perch, disappeared into the ground, and escaped under the portion of the wall he'd tunneled under to begin with. He had a report to make. 

It seemed Raziel's theory was proving correct. The angels didn't know about the Tree at all; the Lord had told them nothing. But She also hadn't _removed_ the Tree—merely instructed the humans not to eat its fruit. He wasn't sure whether Metatron was making up the "if you touch it you'll die" part on their own or whether that was straight from the Almighty, but either way, he knew it was a lie.

After all, Raziel had planted the thing himself. And the Prince had no intention of harming the humans. Quite the opposite, in fact. This meant one of (at least) two things: either the Almighty _wanted_ Raziel to plant that tree all along, or She accepted that he had and was willing to allow the possibility that the Humans would eat from it anyway. 

_Bloody mind games_ , Crawly thought as he slithered back toward his base. _The whole thing's just bloody mind games. Bet you anything She's sitting back and waiting to see what happens next. Typical. Honestly, I don't know what Raziel sees in Her. Seems to me She's just as malicious as She is benevolent._

* * *

Lucifer sat, regal on his throne, awaiting his triumph. He'd finally sent for His apprentice. It was Time. Crawly… _Asael_ …was Ready. And Lucifer was going to _savor_ the things he was going to do to that insolent, unappreciative worm. He was going to enjoy every endless moment of it. Every strangled cry. Every mad shriek. Every plea for the mercy He would not give. Every grateful sob as his wounds were healed, only to be opened once more. It was going to last such a long, long time. And why not? They had all of Eternity ahead of them.

Crawly sauntered into his chamber, the arrogant twat. Lucifer would wipe that still-radiant smile off his beautifully crafted face. Oh, how He loved him. Oh, how He wished to ravage him, tear him asunder. When Lucifer was finished with him, the demon would have no choice but to love Him. He would know nothing but Lucifer, be nothing if not a mere part of Him.

Lucifer was so deep in thought, daydreaming of torment, that He quite forgot that He'd called Crawly there under the pretense that he was to report on his recent Eden surveillance mission. Which he apparently had, without prompting, already launched into. 

Ah well. Lucifer thought He may as well hear the news first. He wouldn't be capable of rational thought in a short while, after all.

"So, ah, they sent a new Archangel in, Gabriel, he's the Principality's direct supervisor now. And they were touring the—"

Try as He might, Lucifer was barely listening. He was thinking about slowly breaking each long, slender finger on those animated hands, forcing devastated cries from that endlessly moving mouth. He was thinking about how exquisitely grotesque it would be to whisper that Celestial Name into his ear, repeating it over and over, seeing how long he could make the torment last before he lost consciousness—and then doing it again once he awoke.

And then Crawly said something which changed…everything.

Lucifer leaned forward.

" _What did you just say_?"

"Um, I ah—" Crawly worked his jaw a bit, thrown off his train of thought by Lucifer's sudden, intense mood shift. The room grew brighter, every edge a bit sharper, the walls leaning in as Lucifer did. "—oh! I said the angel said the Tree's power reminded him of the Tenth? He said it just like that, emphasis and all. My deepest apologies, Lord. I didn't know whether that was a relevant detail. I admit I don't, ah, actually know what it means?"

"No," Lucifer sat back again, looking not at Crawly but through him, already deep in thought. "No, I don't suppose you would. Not anymore."

The wheels in His mind turned so fast that it was difficult to keep up. He was making connections He'd never made before, connecting dots which had hovered just out of reach of each other for ages.

Nothing else mattered to Him in that moment. Not his vengeance, not the War, not even claiming the Celestial throne. Because in that stray comment from some clueless Principality, Lucifer had finally found the answer to a question which had plagued Him since the first time He peered into His apprentice's baffling, egregiously powerful mind.

At long last, he understood what made the Tenth so special. And the answer was both invigorating and infuriating.

* * *

Crawly stood, patiently awaiting orders. Lucifer stared into the middle distance, unmoving. Eventually Crawly cleared his throat, concerned. 

"Um…my Lord? Should I, ah—"

"What?" Lucifer shook His head, looked at Crawly as if He just remembered he was there. His voice was soft and distant, more distracted and unsettled than Crawly had ever seen Him. "Oh. Oh, no. That's…that's all. You're dismissed. Go…get up there and make some trouble or something. I need…to think."

"Ah…right. Then I'll just, er—" 

Crawly didn't have to be told twice. Permission to go before Lucifer had a chance to torment him a bit? That was quite the boon. He had been dreading this exchange. The last few were deeply unpleasant, and they were getting both worse and more frequent. This time he'd been intercepted by a messenger before he could even make it West. He hadn't had a chance to report to his _real_ boss yet. And as dismissive as the order was, it was best to assume any order given by Lucifer was genuine. So it looked like he wasn't heading back to base for a bit.

He wondered why that phrase had affected Lucifer so deeply. He thought he'd have to ask Raziel, whenever he managed to make it back. In the meantime, he thought he knew just the trouble he should get up to, considering the circumstances. 

* * *

What followed was a series of consequence-laden assumptions.

Crawly assumed he knew what his next mission should be, how to make his Prince proud. Raziel assumed he'd have control over a situation he initiated, and that his agent would heed his lessons about avoiding rash reactions to complex situations. Eve assumed that one lie was surely evidence of more, and that anyone informing her of such lies must surely be the honest party. Aziraphale assumed that he would know if a demon tried to infiltrate the Garden, and that even if one did, they wouldn't be difficult to locate. Gabriel assumed that his added guidance would be enough to prevent the Angel of the Eastern Gate from failing to notice a demonic infiltration, and that his own skills and Righteous Position were enough to prevent disaster. Lucifer assumed that Raziel and his Unseen Legion were loyal to Him, and that if they were not, it meant they were loyal to the Creator.

And the Creator Herself assumed that each of her Creations, as Players of the vast Game of the Universe, would Play according to the Rules.

There is a well-known English idiom about what happens when we assume. It need not be repeated here.

* * *

He was hanging in the branches of the Tree when Eve passed. It was easy to hide there. The Tree's spiritual energies were strangely easy to shift his own toward. Raziel had told him little about the Tree itself (Hidden Truths, Greater Mysteries), only that it was meant to help the humans, "Whether the Almighty likes it or not." Whatever that was supposed to mean. In any case, he knew the plan had to be to get them to eat the fruit the moment he heard Metatron say that they shouldn't.

She was walking past the thing with caution but also a healthy dose of fascination, having just learned that it was apparently dangerous. She was near enough that Crawly could hang down from a high branch, directly in her path. She jumped, startled at the large creature swinging before her. But she wasn't afraid of him—merely surprised. She approached, curious and bold.

"Well hello there," she said. "You're an interesting one, never seen colors like that before. What are _you_ , then?" She asked this in a manner that said she wasn't expecting an answer.

"Nothing sspecial, jussst a sssserpent enjoying thisss lovely tree."

She blinked at receiving an answer anyway, but responded with a smile. "What makes you say it's lovely? The Lord said we weren't even allowed to touch it."

"Doessn't it sseem lovely? The way the leavess ssshimmer in the sssunlight?"

"That is true. It's quite beautiful. And the fruit looks so tasty. Somehow, it looks even more delicious now that I know I can't have it. Isn't that strange?"

Crawly slid down from the tree and wrapped himself quite comfortably around her shoulders, curled so his head was quite near her ear.

"It'sss quite sssspecial, you know."

"Mmm. Forbidden Knowledge, the Lord said. I think I can see why. Whenever I look at it, something about it makes me…oh, I don't know quite what. It makes me want to…learn all I can about it, I suppose?"

"The Voissse of the Almighty lied to you, you know. Nothing whatsssoever will happen to you if you touch thiss tree."

She frowned at him. "Lied? What's that mean?"

"Heh, I sssuppossse you wouldn't be familiar with the conssssept. They told you a thing that wassn't true and tried to make you think it wasss. Look down."

She did so and saw that she was standing on a pile of leaves, fallen from the tree itself, still alive with its power.

"…That's strange…"

She stared at her feet a moment before staring back at the tree. She approached it with caution, looking up at the tantalizing fruit hanging on its low branches. She reached out a hesitant hand and laid it on the smooth bark.

Absolutely nothing happened.

"…But…I don't understand…" she said, staring now at her hand. She touched the tree a few more times to be sure.

"Now…you sssaid you wanted to learn more about the tree. That itss fruit lookss tassty. Would you sssay that you desssire it?"

"Um…yes. I suppose I would."

"Tell me sssomething: where do your desssiresss come from?"

Eve took quite a long time to ponder that one, but Crawly was patient. He had all the time in…well, in the Firmament.

"Well I…I suppose they come from inside me. From inside my soul."

"Yessss! And where, then, doesss your sssoul come from?"

"From the Lord, of course— Oh! But are you really saying that my desire to eat the fruit of the tree is the Lord's Will?"

"Not exactly. The Almighty gave you Free Will, didn't Sshe? Sso, iss it not according to the Lord'ss Will that you exsercissse your own?"

This took longer to ponder than the first question. Eve sat at the base of the tree, leaning against it. Crawly slithered off her shoulders and wrapped himself around the trunk, his head still down by her ear. With the end of his tail, he plucked one of the fruits from the tree and set it down beside her as she thought. After a while, she picked it up and played with it idly.

"All right, but…if the Lord actually _wants_ me to eat it, then why did She tell me I shouldn't?"

"Did Ssshe? Or did Her Voisse? They're not the sssame, you know. Metatron isss not the Almighty. They merely ssspeak for Her. But you've ssspoken to many angelsss. You know full well that they are quite capable of ssspeaking for themssselvesss."

"But why wouldn't _Metatron_ want me to eat it?"

"Thiss iss the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. If you eat of itsss fruit you'll learn many sssecretsss of the Universsse. You will learn thingsss the angelsss don't want you to learn. If you knew the thingss they know, you might not look at them with ssssuch awe. They're more proud than they appear. Insssecure, really."

She pondered the fruit in her hand as he spoke. After a longer think, she stood, fruit still in hand.

"I'll…think about it. I think…I want to speak to Adam about it, see what he thinks. But thank you for telling me and for showing me that the tree isn't dangerous. That was kind of you."

She walked away, turned, and waved a goodbye before disappearing into the trees. Crawly climbed back into the upper branches and awaited the inevitable.

* * *

Down in Hell, Lucifer was still lost in thought, but He was no longer quiet and pensive. He was pacing, cursing, throwing things. He was _livid_.

Raziel had told him the plan, that he'd be planting the Tree. He told him that it would be a sabotage of epic proportions, that it would introduce Sin into the soul of Humanity, corrupt them utterly, ruin the entire endeavor before it even had a chance to get off the ground (or rather, onto it). But he hadn't told Him _how_.

And he hadn't revealed that he'd uncovered the secret of the Tenth either.

The answer was so obvious, so blatant. And yet Lucifer would never have been able put it together, had He not Fallen. Because he never would have known what Unholiness, or its potential, felt like.

The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was called such because (Raziel claimed) it held the seeds of both forces within itself, waiting to incubate inside the Human soul and corrode it from the inside out with Infernal influences. But in order to create something like that, the Tree would have to contain both: a perfect, equal balance of Celestial and Infernal power.

And _that_ was the secret of the Tenth. The Tenth were special because the Tenth were both powerful and had the potential for _Neutrality._

Although their Celestial souls held only Celestial energies, the souls themselves were neither purely Holy nor purely Unholy. Rather, they held the potential for a _balance_ of the two, and that potentiality created a wholly different type of power. An energy identical to that of all other Beings born of the Almighty, but configured _differently_. Neutrality gave them avenues of power that other beings, more aligned with one side or the other, couldn't possibly traverse without damaging their soul or destroying it entirely. 

This wasn't an exclusive thing. It was merely an arrangement of a soul, just as angelic and demonic souls were arrangements. It was likely possible to rearrange a soul of either persuasion in such a manner, but it would be quite a delicate—and quite a long-term—endeavor.

But there were two beings in the Universe whose souls were inherently primed for such an undertaking: the Tenth, angels of immense, if varied, power…and the Humans, with neutral souls but without the power to make them spiritually Strong.

It was clear now. Raziel was planning to change that last bit. Raziel was planning to elevate Humanity to angeldom, possibly beyond it. _He was going to make them into more Tenth._

That was _not_ an Evil plot. It was _not_ a plan guaranteed to destroy those weak, pathetic creatures—merely to _strengthen_ them.

And worse than all the rest, if the Tenth were always capable of containing and using Infernal power, then that meant…Oh, that devious Almighty _Bitch_. This was always the Plan. The birth of the Tenth, Lucifer's Fall and banishment, Hell, the War, the whole thing was _always_ the Plan.

 _And Raziel was helping Her achieve it_.

And as Lucifer was His Own witness, Raziel was going to pay.

* * *

1\. The Council wasn't quite sure what they should call themselves anymore. There was still a war on, technically. But since the Lord had removed angelkind from the Firmament, there was no Heavenly Defense to be had! There had been a brief discussion about going back to the Council for Great Planning, but they quickly agreed that ship had sailed. [Back]

2\. It had healed fine quite a while ago, but he had grown used to favoring it out of an abundance of caution. Caution was quite possibly the most abundant resource Aziraphale possessed. [Back]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by [GottaGoBuyCheese](https://gottagobuycheese.tumblr.com/)


	12. The Great Plan (Revised)

Crawly arrived back at base soon after he felt the shift in the humans' spiritual energies, confident he'd done his job well. He swaggered into Raziel's office, pleased with himself and eager to deliver the good news. As soon as he saw the look on Raziel's face, his swagger vanished.

Raziel was standing, not sitting, behind his desk. He didn't look angry, but he did look disappointed, and that was somehow much worse. Crawly stood awkwardly in the doorway, hesitant to continue moving forward.

"Close the door," Raziel said, his voice similarly not angry, but instead laden with quiet, controlled concern.

Crawly did as he was told. He sat, somewhat sheepishly, in the chair in front of the desk. Raziel didn't sit.

"Where have you been? Something's happened in Eden, I can sense it from here. There's something wrong."

"Wrong? But…everything was running smoothly when I left…" 

Raziel's expression darkened. "What did you _do_?"

That careful calm in his voice simmered, seeming to just barely contain something more wild and dangerous behind it.

"I, er— Um…"

"Wait. Let me answer my first question. You've been to Eden, I know that well enough, that was your _observation_ assignment. But you've also been to Hell, haven't you?"

Crawly nodded and said nothing. He hadn't been trying to hide it, but of course Raziel knew. He had eyes everywhere, metaphorically speaking.

"Why didn't you report in? Between _either_ location?"

"Well the first bit really wasn't my fault, honestly. Lucifer sent for me, they caught me at the crossroads, I didn't have a choice in that."

"…Go on."

"Ah, right. So, er— thing is, Lucifer wanted a status report, and I wasn't going to refuse—"

"Tell me everything."

Crawly did. When he got to the bit about the Tenth, Raziel flinched. When he reported on Lucifer's demeanor after that, Raziel muttered out an Infernal curse strong enough to discorporate an angel and finally sat at his desk. He buried his head in his hands. But he didn't stop Crawly from continuing to report, so report he did.

"So, um, since He dismissed me, I figured I'd better head back East."

Raziel's head snapped up. "You went _back_?"

"I mean, He explicitly said, 'Get up there and make trouble.' I don't know how else I was supposed to interpret that."

Raziel sighed. "Okay. So you went back to Eden, and _then_?"

"And then I…sort of…well, look: in the moment it seemed like a pretty good idea, right? We plant a tree with fruit that's supposed to help Humanity, Metatron flips a halo the moment they hear about it and forbids the humans from even _touching_ the thing. I figured the right move was to convince them to eat the fruit."

Raziel's expression went from tired aggravation to outright horror, and Crawly sank in his chair.

"I, ah…I take it that was the wrong move?"

Raziel closed his eyes, though whether out of frustration or sadness, Crawly couldn't tell. The Prince sighed.

"It was _technically_ the right move…at precisely the wrong time." 

Crawly sank further in his chair and fought the urge to slither off into hiding.

"…Oh. Shit."

"Yes. Part of this is my fault. I should have briefed you more thoroughly, but the plan hadn't come together yet, and I didn't want you—heh—I didn't want you running off half-cocked and doing something _hasty_."

At this last bit, the look Raziel gave him was decidedly closer to anger than disappointment. Crawly fidgeted.

"…Do I want to know how bad it is?"

"It's…bad. I don't even know _how_ bad, not exactly. I hadn't planned on their going for it this early. They weren't even supposed to be attracted to the thing yet, not while they were still so…unprepared."

"Are they actually going to die?"

"I don't know."

"What's it going to do to them?"

"I don't _know_ , Crawly. I don't have enough information because the project wasn't _finished_. The tree was the first in _several_ phases. I didn't even consider what it could do to them at this stage because it wasn't supposed to be an issue!"

"Can we—can _I_ —fix it?"

Raziel's anger lessened somewhat at the guilt in Crawly's tone. His expression shifted again, away from any of the previous expressions, and further toward pity.

"No. It's done. The only thing to do now is watch the situation and see how it plays out."

"…Oh."

Up to that moment, Crawly thought the biggest mistake he'd ever made was Falling (or perhaps being close to Lucifer in the first place). This one surpassed the others quite thoroughly.

"Come on then," Raziel said, standing and crossing to the door, "Better go assess the damage." Crawly couldn't quite tell whether the tone Raziel used there was an attempt to avoid sounding too gruff or too soft. Either way, he followed dutifully behind.

"Well, at least one good thing's sure to come of it," Raziel mused as they headed out. "Lucifer's bound to see it as a win for our side."

* * *

The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil held within it the power to grant those who consumed its fruit a more rounded understanding of the workings of the Universe. In the span of a moment, the humans gained not only vast knowledge, but a great deal of wisdom. They became able to reason more thoroughly, retain knowledge more fully, make connections and find patterns in ways that no other Earthly creature would ever manage. Their capacity for imagination increased, along with their capacities for empathy, kindness, humor, love. But alongside these boons came the capacity for great cruelty, dispassion, apathy, hatred. Some were even mixed or neutral blessings, like those of anger and fear, unpleasant and destructive when left unattended, but constructive and necessary when harnessed.

Alas, humanity was not designed to withstand such a power, not in the state they were in at the time it was granted. They were able to consume the power, hold it within themselves, but at great physical and spiritual cost. Their bodies, barely able to contain the Tree's raw power, became more frail, their lifespans lessened from centuries to years. They became vulnerable to forms of microbial life they would otherwise have existed beside in harmony, giving rise to the scourge of disease. Their minds, unable to fully manage the depth of their new complexity of thought, gave rise to confusion, disorder, and illness. Flora and fauna, which once would have nourished them became poisonous, their bodies too delicate to process certain chemical substances. Even oxygen, one of the components of the air they were designed to breathe, became a slow poison, destroying their cells over the course of decades.

These would not always be weaknesses in the course of Humanity's life on Earth. In time, these limitations and contradictions would come to be some of their greatest collective strengths. But their newly gained knowledge enabled them to see the sheer vulnerability of their situation, the nakedness of their position in the Universe. In the moment, it seemed to Adam and Eve that despite all they had gained, a great deal had been lost. All thanks to the wily words of a congenial, convincing, ultimately well-meaning Serpent.

The most unfortunate effect of Humanity's integration of their new power was that precisely half of that power was Infernal. The Ophanim, in accordance with the Laws of Nature and the Universe, were obligated to cause any creature with that degree of Infernal energies to Fall. There was no choice in the matter: it was a Fact of Nature.

This posed quite a problem, in terms of logistics. Human corporations were never suited to the environments of Heaven or Hell. The Garden was a refuge, but only for beings specifically designed to exist within it. If the humans were to Fall, there was only one place for them to land.

* * *

When Metatron arrived at the Eastern Gate to give the pair the unfortunate news, someone was standing out front waiting for them. Metatron didn't recognize him at first, and until they drew closer, they couldn't even quite tell what _species_ the creature was. But then the shape of his soul came into clear view, and Metatron gasped.

"Ra—"

" _DON'T!_ "

Metatron stopped themselves, horrified that they very nearly spoke the former archangel's Celestial Name aloud.1

"Thank you. It's Raziel these days."

"Yes…yes, of course. We suppose we ought to ask if you're the one responsible for this tragedy?"

"And that's a perfectly reasonable question. But I believe the focus needs to be not on what was, but on what is to come, wouldn't you agree?"

"…What do you want, foul fiend?"

"Another good question. I can tell you what Hell wants—"

"We can guess."

"Yes, well, I do suppose that's a bit obvious. Lucifer is absolutely _thrilled_ at the idea of those little creatures, weaker and more frail than ever before, crawling around on that planet unprotected."

"They will _not_ be unprotected!"

"Still, they will not be invulnerable either. And we both know full well that Lucifer hated them from the moment of their birth. Their destruction will be his sole focus, as long as it takes, as long as they or any of their descendants may live."

"Are you _threatening_ the Kingdom of Heaven?"

"I am stating facts."

They held each other's gaze, a silent battle of wills. Metatron sneered.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here because I would like to formally request a parley."

Metatron sputtered a bit before squeaking out. "A _parley_?? What possible _terms_ could Hell offer here? For that matter, what terms could _we_ offer?"

"If I'm not mistaken, that is precisely what a parley is intended to suss out, is it not?"

"You're stalling. You're trying to distract us so you can sneak in and finish the job while our backs are turned!"

"I'm requesting this negotiation of you and you _alone_ , Voice of the Creator. Any others who wish to continue to guard your charges until they are released are free to do so."

Metatron scowled. Then they sighed, resigned.

"All right. We admit, especially given the current circumstances, that we would much prefer to see this War ended. We assume this is the reason for your request?"

"You assume correctly. Come on, let's see about adjourning to a more neutral location."

* * *

Prince Raziel and Metatron, Voice of the Creator, eventually settled upon traveling to Earth to have their parley, away from the prying eyes and ears of either side. They spoke for a long time, and each learned much from the other. What went on in those negotiations is known only to the negotiators. When they emerged, they returned to their respective homes much satisfied, and more than a little relieved.

Soon after, an announcement rang through both the Celestial and Infernal planes simultaneously. It was delivered in such a way as to leave no doubt in who had delivered it. In Heaven, the Ophanim sang the words as they had eons before, delivering the message directly to the soul of every angel in the Host. In Hell, the Moirai howled those same words, the Horde struck momentarily immobile by the sheer force of the message.

"Take heed and listen well, O forces of Good and Evil. The War between the Kingdoms of Heaven and Hell is at an End. Each side is now at a Truce—not for True Peace, but in anticipation of New Endeavors. The Celestial and Infernal Realms are now prepared to meet a new challenge. Every creature Birthed of the Almighty has a role to play in the Great Plan.

"The Humans She has created to Sing Her praises and work Her Will shall henceforth dwell upon the Earth. The Almighty has cast them from the Garden, for they have disobeyed Her and fallen prey to Sin. The humans have eaten of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, an act from which they were Forbidden. The Powers of Hell have sullied the Almighty's perfect creations. The Serpent has Tempted them to Ruin.

"But do not lament. For in doing so, the Humans have fulfilled their own destiny and embarked upon another. The Garden was merely the first Test of Humanity, and in their Failure, they shall be Tested evermore. For six-thousand years shall Humanity dwell upon their new Home, and for six-thousand years shall each of their lives be weighed and measured. For every moment they exist in corporeal form, they shall be Judged, and that Judgement shall determine the fate of each Human Soul.

"Lucifer, Emperor of Hell, is the True Adversary of the Almighty. As She Reigns in Heaven, so too does He Reign in Hell. And working as Adversaries, They Shall weigh the soul of each Human in turn. Souls deemed Worthy of Entry into the Kingdom of Heaven shall be Blessed. They shall be welcomed through the Celestial Gates and dwell within for All Eternity. Those deemed Unworthy to exist within the Light of Eternal Bliss shall instead become Damned. They shall face Eternal Torment in Darkness. Thus shall the Universe be Divided, until the End of All Things.

"Each Blessed soul shall contribute to Heaven's Power, and so too shall each Damned soul bolster the Power of Hell, until there comes such a Time when the Earth shall be Destroyed in Fire and Flame. On that day shall a New War commence. This War shall take place within the Realms which the Lord hath made: throughout the Firmament, in Halls Celestial and Infernal, and upon the Ashes of the Earth. And this War, the Final War, shall determine the Fate of the Universe and One force shall Rule over All.

"Until that day, each Power shall work to win the souls of humanity to their own aid. But each human shall Themselves determine the Realm to which their soul Belongs. Whether by Evil or by Good, the Choice must be Theirs to make, and Theirs alone. The Powers of Heaven and Hell may work to influence this choice, but they may not intervene directly. No soul may be stolen or taken by force. No soul may be altered for the purpose of Blessing or Damnation. For Good or for Evil, Humanity must forge its own Path.

"Rejoice! For a New Age has dawned, and the whole of the Lord's Creations shall take on a New Purpose! So Shall It Be Written!"

* * *

The collective response to the news was, to put it mildly, mixed.2

Most were elated at the announcement of the Truce, but that elation began to wane as the realization dawned that the War itself appeared to have been part of the Plan all along. Worse, the proclamation seemed to imply that the creation of Hell was not only a planned event but one which Lucifer had been specifically _created_ to enact. The Fall, the War, all that suffering and death…had it all been the Almighty's intent all along? Did this mean that the forces of Hell were not rebels after all but were instead playing right into the Almighty's Hands? That all they did, all they were, was Of Her after all?

And what of the Fall of Humanity? Why had it not been mentioned during the first Herald? Why was the Tree in the Garden at all, if it was so dangerous? Had it been put there by the side of Good or Evil?

And what of this Serpent? What manner of powerful demon might he have been, destined to cause such massive upheaval?

* * *

Crawly was still in Eden, hiding in the bushes. He'd been there since long before the Herald, and afterward he felt as though he could stay there for the next 6000 years. Did the Herald really need to call him out like that? Sure, the street cred was nice. It would probably land him in Lucifer's Bad Graces for a good long time. But he hadn't even _meant_ to do it. Sure it was his fault, but didn't intention count for something?

Where was Raziel? Crawly hadn't seen him since they'd come back to assess the damage done. Raziel left with Metatron to discuss negotiations, and Crawly had tucked himself away to keep an eye on things. He hadn't seen him since. He said he'd come back for Crawly once he'd "smooth[ed] things over with Lucifer", whatever that meant. But that Herald sounded like quite the smoothing, practically equating Him to the Almighty Herself. He was probably down in that shifting chamber of His cackling maniacally at His bump in status from "outcast" to "vital part of the inner workings of the Universe". So then, why hadn't Raziel returned?

Crawly steeled up his nerve and left the bushes. Once he got moving, he realized things felt a bit different, not inside the Garden but outside, specifically toward the East. Could it be that he'd hunkered down long enough for the humans to have already been cast out? Were the Gates open onto the Earth? That might be a thing to see.

He slithered up to the wall, only to find no Gate at all. It had been Sealed. He looked up to see the (former) Angel of the Eastern Gate standing at the top of the wall, looking out toward the East. He was alone. Maybe Crawly could get something out of him before he headed back to base, something that would convince Raziel not to fire him. It was worth a shot. And besides, he was quite curious about that angel. Crawly wanted to confirm his suspicions about the creature's apparent capacity for doubt.

Crawly scaled the wall, climbing toward yet another destiny he hadn't even considered.

* * *

1\. Enemy or not, it would have been an exceptionally cruel thing to do, even unintentionally. Metatron was a lot of things, but cruel was not at the top of that list. [Back]

2\. To put it more forcefully, the entire supernatural population lost their collective shit. [Back]


	13. Epilogue: From Eden

Oh now, this is interesting.

The moment the angel shifts from impersonal straight-backed cordiality to panicked vulnerable confession, Crawly knows he's in trouble. The angel is beyond fascinating. The angel is delightful. The angel is like nothing, no one, he's ever known before. Crawly's been talking to him for thirty seconds and it feels like he could chat with him forever. This is probably bad.

* * *

The moment he came around the ridge and saw the doorway, gaping and dark where only faceless rock should be, he knew it was over. His haven was gone. His life was as good as forfeit. He expected an ambush the moment he went inside. But he went in anyway, steeled and ready for what he expected to find. He had to see it for himself.

Inside, there wasn't a workshop anymore, merely chaos. Tables upturned, careful experiments ruined, important documents destroyed. The bodies were the most unsettling bit, empty corporations left behind from his extinct comrades. They weren't Elite Unseen, true, but they were still Raziel's agents, and now they were all gone. All of them. _All_ but him.

* * *

The rain startles him. Wouldn't such water, falling from the Almighty's sky onto the Almighty's earth, be at least a little Holy, innately? He doesn't have time to think; for whatever reason, on instinct, he moves ever so slightly closer to the angel. Then the angel lifts his wing, sheltering him from the storm. He watches the angel in shock. Did he do that unthinkingly, protect his Natural Enemy from potential danger like that? Or even more perplexingly, did he do it out of simple consideration?

"Oh!" Crawly says. "Er— thanks?"

The angel clears his throat, a bit embarrassed at his second impulsive decision in a matter of hours.

"Well…no sense both of us getting soaked. I'd imagine you must get rather cold, what with the whole, er—"

"Snake thing?"

"Quite."

"Yeah, well…cheers!"

The angel stares straight ahead, quite pointedly attempting to ignore the moral dissonance in this act of kindness. Crawly finds himself stealing sideways glances. More than once, he catches the angel doing the same. Crawly can't stop grinning.

Oh this…this is worse than he'd thought. 

* * *

Crawly thoroughly searched the front rooms, certain he'd find the assailants still at large. But the place was quiet and still, eerily so. He made his way to the back, taking extra care that he wasn't being tailed. To his relief, the door to the true workshop was still hidden. Maybe the rest were inside. Maybe he hadn't lost _everything_.

With a shaking hand, he traced the sigil into the door and it opened with ease. As it did so, a message popped into his head, likely embedded into the door.1 He heard the entirety of it in an instant, and tears filled his eyes as he momentarily staggered with its weight, leaning against the open door frame.

"Agent, your orders are as follows: don't allow them to turn you into one of them. Don't ever lose that incessant curiosity. Don't let their comfort in mediocrity dull that incredible imagination. Do _not_ give in to despair. Stay clever. Stay kind. They'll try to convince you it's futile, but you know better. There is more to this Universe than any of them will ever understand, and those with any inkling will never let on. You mustn't ever forget who you are. You are the Serpent of Eden, Cause of Humanity's Fall and Freedom. You are Unseen, a seeker of Hidden Truth and Greater Mysteries. You are who you always have been: Maker of Stars, Birther of Nebulae, Made by God. You are Free."

* * *

They watch the humans for a long time, until the Sun goes down, a distant campfire flickering in the darkness. The clouds have cleared, and the night sky is…indescribable. Crawly sits on the side of the wall, leans back on his arms, and stares. The angel watches him a moment before sitting beside him, stiff and awkward, nowhere near the relaxed posture Crawly adopts. Still, he looks up as well.

"Absolutely radiant," the angel says in an awed whisper. "Even from the material plane. Such a wonder, such a beautiful display of Her Creation. I can't believe so many of the angels who crafted them were…"

He stops himself, seemingly aware that he's about to insult his stargazing companion. Crawly snickers.

"Tainted? Evil?"

"…Disrespectful of Her Sovereignty," the angel finishes. In what he clearly believes is a more polite phrasing, he adds, "Disobedient to their Creator." It is delivered in such a haughty, disapproving tone that any attempt at sensitivity is lost entirely. Crawly sighs.

"You know, blind obedience really isn't much of a virtue. 'S certainly not all it's cracked up to be."

"Well of course one of your kind would say that. Not one of you has any understanding of what constitutes Goodness and Right!" The angel bristles, uncomfortable. "A demon lecturing me on virtue. Really, I never."

* * *

On the other side of the door, there was…nothing. It was an empty cave, no workshop, in disarray or otherwise, no offices, no meeting rooms. No gentle laughter, no soothing calm. No Sariel, smiling sweetly at him from behind her desk by the door. 

No Raziel.

His optimism told him they must have escaped somehow. This emptiness was surely a sign that they'd relocated. They would find him again once the heat died down. Or perhaps, the more cynical part of his mind suggested, the contents of the true base had been a projection of Raziel's mind, similar to Lucifer's chambers, and it had vanished when its owner was extincted. Either was possible. The latter was probable. He might never know either way.

Despondent, he made his way back out to the ravine. That was where they were waiting for him, flanking either side of the exit, hidden against the outside wall. Crawly noticed them as he approached, but he trudged forward, awaiting the inevitable. They captured him with little trouble; he saw no point in resisting.

"Is it him?" one of them asked the other, who inspected the sigil by his ear.

"Yeh. He's the one Lucifer wants."

"Can't believe we had to hang about so long. You're the very last of the lot, you know. Where've you been, Mister Oh-So-Important Serpent?"

 _Fraternizing_ , he thought, but he said nothing.

* * *

The angel stands, awkward and unsettled.

"I'd better get back. It's not at all proper for angels to fraternize like this."

Crawly scoffs. "Oh no, certainly not. Hereditary enemies and all that."

The angel gives a curt nod, completely oblivious to his sarcasm. "Well then, at least can we agree on something."

Crawly rolls his eyes and looks back to the stars, though he continues glancing at the angel. For his part, the angel seems a bit hesitant as he prepares to fly off. 

"I don't suppose we'll meet again. I rather hope not." His tone says he believes this. His backwards glances contradict it quite thoroughly.

"Hard to say," Crawly says, only teasing a little. "Given that we're technically in business together, maybe they'll assign us as rivals."

"Perish the thought," the angel says petulantly. He takes to the sky.

* * *

He recognized his captors and immediately knew how the base had been compromised.

At his left arm stood Sir Hastur, a Knight in Beelzebub's Legion and former agent of the Unseen. On his right, one of the lower tier Unseen who had been recruited alongside Crawly.

"Ligur! Never a pleasure. I assume betrayal was a faster track to promotion than the traditional route?"

"It's _Sir_ Ligur now. And shut up!"

Crawly whistled. "They really will Knight anybody these days, won't they? Beelzebub must _really_ be hurting for personnel."

Hastur smacked the back of his head. "A Knight of the Flies gave you an order, cadet. Keep your wagging tongue still, or you'll lose it."

"Don't know if you've heard," Crawly drawled, as they finished tying him up and began to drag him away, "but the war's over. I'm no more a cadet than you are an angel."

Ligur punched him in the stomach. "Not gonna tell you again. Shut it."

* * *

"Oi, angel!" Crawly calls up to him out of wild impulse. The angel pauses.

"What is it?"

"You've got my name, 's only fair I should get yours."

The angel hovers, clearly torn. After a long pause, he reluctantly responds.

"Aziraphale."

Crawly smirks and gives a little wave.

"Been a pleasure to meet you, Aziraphale."

The angel harrumphs and makes a quick exit, but not before Crawly catches the hint of a blush blooming on his conflicted face.

Oh dear, oh dear. This has the makings of more trouble than Crawly knows what to do with. He watches Aziraphale vanish into the sky and tries very hard not to acknowledge how disappointing it is to see him go.

Then again, he isn't in the habit of lying to himself. Denial isn't one of the skills he's managed to pick up. But avoidance?

Oh, he's a pro at that one. A bona fide expert.

* * *

When they dragged him before Lucifer, Crawly was sure he was moments away from either extinction or unending torment. They didn't bother to untie him; they just threw him to the ground at Lucifer's feet. Lucifer sat in His gilded throne, smirking down at him. He spared a glance for the Knights.

"Leave us."

Crawly heard them shuffle away, and then he was alone with the Emperor of Hell—his least favorite state of being. Lucifer stood and circled Crawly, slow and unconcerned. Crawly was already preparing a mental escape.

"Oh Crawly, Crawly, whatever am I going to _do_ with you?"

He dragged Crawly to his feet, lifted his chin to look him in the eyes. Crawly looked back, defiant. He started to raise the partition.

"Oh no, don't you do that little disappearing act on Me. You're staying right here, _all_ of you."

Crawly's eyes widened. Lucifer smirked. The partition… _shattered_. Panic flooded Crawly's system, and it was all he could do to stay upright. But even with the emotions strewn across his face, he tried his best to stay strong and not look away. He had to display as little weakness as possible. Lucifer scoffed.

"Did you honestly think I didn't _know_? I mean, I didn't, not at first. You had Me fooled at that first interrogation, I'm not ashamed to admit it. You're skilled, I'll give you that. Not skilled enough, of course."

Lucifer released his chin and stalked away from him. Crawly could tell He was gearing up for a monologue, and he tried his hardest to stifle a bubble of inappropriate laughter. He only partially succeeded, and a noise somewhere between a giggle and a sob escaped him in an awkward burst. There was too much going on in his mind at once. He was rapidly hurtling toward madness. Even without the partition to hide behind, he had to try and center himself, gain some semblance of control. Cling to something solid. Something pleasant.

("I gave it away…")

("You what?")

"You know, Crawly, I was planning to kill you. I was fully prepared to utterly _destroy_ you, in fact. And then out of nowhere comes this Herald, informing Me that I've been a part of the Great Plan all along, that My place in the Universe is Equal and Opposite to the Almighty Herself. And I thought, 'Now there's something I wasn't expecting.' It was too bad, really, that I'd already given the order to disband the Unseen. It turns out you lot did Me quite the favor after all. Oopsie."

Crawly scowled. "Disbanded? You obliterated us."

("Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one?")

(The angel's expression at that idea is exceptionally delightful. Crawly is in so, so, so much trouble.)

"Oh, disbanded, obliterated, what _difference_ does it make? Gone is gone. And the Unseen Legion? Is gone. Forever. You're not an 'us' anymore, My beloved. Only a lowly demon without a Prince."

Crawly couldn't stop himself from asking the question at the forefront of his mind. It dragged itself out from his mouth as he tried his hardest to hold it back.

"Is Raziel extinct?"

Lucifer's smile fell. Crawly had been standing in the middle of the room, but he instantly found himself pressed against a wall, Lucifer's hand on his throat. And unlike Raziel's display once upon a time, Lucifer was most definitely _not_ holding back. His voice was the polar opposite of what it had been only a moment before. Where there was once melody, there was now only discord. Congeniality turned to loathing, casual tone to urgent growl. Around them, the cheerily lit room descended into utter darkness. The only light Crawly could see were the pinpricks of light in the far depths of Lucifer's eyes: a black void filled with stars.

"If I _ever_ hear that traitor's name cross your lips again, it will be the last word you ever speak. _Do you understand me_?"

Crawly nodded, best he could with Lucifer's hand at his neck. Lucifer released his grip and let him drop. The room sprang back to its former state, candles burning merrily on the walls, a soft floor for Crawly to land on in a heap. 

"There is only one reason you're not extinct right now," Lucifer said, back to prowling the floor in front of His captive, "and that is because you are the one directly responsible for Humanity's Fall. In one fell swoop, you dealt both them and the Almighty a blow I could never have conceptualized, let alone achieved. Your imagination never fails to surprise and delight Me, Crawly. It always has. But your loyalty is, at the moment, suspect. For a Ruler such as Myself, an imaginative Subject is quite the valuable asset. An imaginative Enemy, on the other hand, is a dangerous liability. Which one are you, I wonder?"

Crawly didn't answer, taking the opportunity to pull himself together a bit more before sitting up, back against the wall. Lucifer seemed content to leave him there. He closed his eyes a moment.

("Oh I do hope they'll be all right out there.")

("Ah, they'll be fine. They're tougher than they look.")

("Hm…I suppose you're right about that. I'd imagine they'd fare better without your lot trying to sway them toward Evil. But then, I gather that's essentially what I'm to be doing as well. Swaying them toward Good.")

("Staying up here, are you?")

("Down here, yes, eventually. I'm to be a Field Agent, apparently. Work to influence them locally, as it were.")

"…You could let me keep tempting them."

Lucifer stopped pacing. He turned and stared at Crawly, His expression quite unreadable for once.

"What was that?"

Crawly looked up at Him, the beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips.

"Upstairs has already assigned a Field Agent. We'll be wanting one as well, I'm sure. Why not me?"

Lucifer narrowed His eyes and crossed His arms. "I can think of a dozen reasons off the top of my head."

"Yeah, but"—with some difficulty, Crawly stood, using the wall for leverage. The idea began to gain steam inside his mind—"think about it, Lord. What better way to test my loyalty than to see how many souls I can win You? You can always recall me if I'm doing poorly or if I try anything untoward. But if I succeed, if I start raking in the souls…wouldn't that be acceptable proof?"

Lucifer uncrossed His arms. "I'm listening. For now."

"I'd be up on Earth, out of Your hair for the foreseeable future. But I'd also be easily reachable. It's one small, measly planet, nothing like up on the Firmament. You'd know exactly where I was, could keep tabs on me, whatever. If I fail You, extinct me. But just think what a demon with an imagination like mine could achieve against Humanity. Against _Heaven_ , while I'm at it."

Lucifer's smile was back, with an edge of fond, if begrudging, indulgence. Raziel was right; Lucifer had a soft spot for Crawly, and Crawly had just figured out how to exploit it.

"Oh, all right. We'll try it on a trial basis. A _trial basis_ , you understand."

"Of course, Lord."

"Oh drop the Lord bit," Lucifer gave a dismissive wave which also served to free Crawly from the ropes around his wrists, "I'm growing tired of it already."

"Will do," Crawly shook away the ropes and rubbed his wrists, "Thank you Lo—Lucifer. For sparing me my life."

Lucifer sat in His throne once more, still wearing that indulgent smirk.

"Don't thank Me yet. Now get out of here. Go find Prince Beelzebub. You'll be reporting to them."

Crawly bowed, left the room, and smiled the entire lift ride up.

* * *

Crawly's cleverness had saved his life, but his curious mind was still plagued with many questions. Would he be able to recover his skills, learn to mask himself once more? Were the Unseen truly wiped out, or had some managed an escape and gone into hiding? What had happened to Raziel, to Sariel? How could he find out while stationed up on Earth?

And would he meet the angel, Aziraphale, again? Would they truly become rivals, each working to sway the humans to their side? Would he be able to remain rivals with a being he found so utterly fascinating? With the right encouragement, might the angel become amenable to, at the very least, a friendly rivalry?

Unfortunately, dear reader, the answers to those questions are, themselves, another story altogether.

* * *

1\. The Unseen often used this method of covert communication, as it was designed to trigger only in response to contact with the intended recipient's spiritual signature. [Back]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, that does mean there will be a sequel to this story: a third installment in the series which will take place between this story & Close to Home. As to when that story will happen? *shrug* I'm finishing Close to Home first. But I'll get around to it eventually. ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, I'm very, _very_ grateful for every _single_ comment I get on anything I write. And I do get a lot of them, and I know I’m really lucky for that, because not everybody does. 
> 
> And I get that not everyone likes commenting, and that is completely fine with me (thank you so, so, so much for reading!!!). Sometimes I don’t have the spoons or wherewithal or guts or time or am just not in the mood to comment on something I really loved. I totally get it.
> 
> But if you're on the fence about commenting for whatever reason, please consider the following:  
> 
> 
>   1. I 100% want to know what you think: your opinions, emojis, keysmashes and anger about giving you feels all give me life.
>   2. I obsessively reply to comments, so cut whatever number of comments this story has in half, because the other half is me gushingly thanking people.
>   3. Do you actually have a question about something? Do you want to "talk shop” about the story or the fandom in-general? Did reading it make you think of something else and you feel like sharing? These are also very good things to use the comment section for!
>   4. If you, like me, have ever had the thought, "Somebody's probably already said what I was going to" or "That person said what I was going to say", please know that whatever it was, I would love to hear it like, a million times, so please do say it again. :)
> 

> 
> Thank you, reader. I love you no matter whether you comment, kudos, or just stop by and give my story a chance. Seriously. I write for me, but I post for readers, so I literally couldn’t do it without you. <3


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